


Light Years

by Geneticghost, kronut



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: (Public Almost-Sex?), (not really) - Freeform, Also plot, Alternate Realities, Breathplay, Bruises, Cheesy Porn Dialogue, Clothed Sex, Domestic Fluff, Dystopian Future, Flirting, Illustrated, Intergalactic (Planetary), Light BDSM, M/M, Multiverse, New York, Oral Sex, Porn, Public Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Their Tongues Battled For Dominance, Time Travel, X-Factor Investigations, so much porn, there's definitely some plot in here somewhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:18:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geneticghost/pseuds/Geneticghost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronut/pseuds/kronut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When we last saw Rictor and Shatterstar, they were ripped from their own reality by Mephisto and sent to Mojoworld. Seemingly trapped there until they can fix the timeline, a twist of fate leads them to not only Shatterstar’s origin but a way off-planet as well. Thrown forward through time and space, they begin their journey back to New York before the war started, but discover along the way that Hell on Earth was only the beginning of their problems. They set out on a mission to make sure the past plays out as it should and their own timeline stays intact. But with the past, present and future finally safeguarded, and with a chance to return home, will there still be a place for them in their old life? (Now with art, and presently on hiatus while we work on our other fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waldorf Astoria, Fancy Soaps, and the Sex Shop at the End of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This got out of hand.
> 
> Also! We're molecularmonster and officialrobliefeld on tumblr, if you want to stop by and say hello.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their time on Mojoworld and the journey back, Rictor and Shatterstar return to X-Factor HQ to find that many things have changed in their absence.

**[Art](http://molecularmonster.tumblr.com/post/104601614680/okay-so-work-pictured-above-is-by) by [Jacki](http://bananasandguavas.tumblr.com/).**

 

 

The first thing Rictor thinks when he sees the boarded-up windows of the building that used to be X-Factor Investigations is: _damn, I was really looking forward to that shower._

It’s not only the windows, but the front door as well. There’s graffiti on the building’s facade—he can make out a few anti-mutant slurs, as well as, inexplicably, the word “Doop”—and when he squints, he sees the sign hanging behind the cracked glass of the door.

_Sorry! We’re closed._

Rictor suspects they weren’t sorry at all.

"We will have to speak with Jamie about his poor decorating choices." 'Star says after a moment of just staring. It's not as if he doesn't understand what he's looking at, but they were supposed to travel to before they had gotten sent to the future in the first place and unless there was some event that had split the time line, this was most certainly not it. He looks over at Rictor and then to the billboard just across the way. He was in search of the date but what he sees is slightly more informative.

"All-New X-Factor." And that most certainly is Polaris—and, oh—Gambit as well. "Brought to you by Serval Industries." He reads it aloud. "Ah, that explains it. We've traveled to an alternate earth. My apologies." 'Star frowns when he looks back at Ric.

“Hold on.” Rictor crouches down in front of the steps, inspecting something on the corner of the third stair up. “Look,” he says, glancing back at ‘Star. He points out a crack in the stone, running from the base of the handrail to the middle of the step. “This is from that time Layla tripped me up the stairs. I made that.” He traces the fissure with his forefinger, recalling the incident that led to its being there. He never did find out why Layla tripped him, but he’s beginning to suspect it might have been leading up to this moment, somehow. He’ll never get used to that. 

“This is our earth,” he says, and suddenly feels the need to sit down. 

"Our earth, but not the correct time." At least not the time 'Star was thinking of. "Were you thinking of the time we had agreed on?" He's a bit puzzled by this and looks around once more before taking a seat next to Rictor on the stoop. Perhaps the moment they were sent to the future had become a fixed point in time, unable to be traveled to or changed. 'Star doesn't say it aloud, but it's the only thing he can think of.

Does this mean they no longer have a place to go back to? 

“I…” Rictor frowns. He could’ve sworn he did everything right: he had a specific place and moment in time when he anchored ‘Star’s teleport, and he didn’t let his mind wander—he’s never been sure how he manages that, but he does. They’ve never gotten it wrong before. 

On the other hand, he’s tired, and he really did just want to get home. Maybe he rerouted them by accident? 

“... I guess I must have messed up,” he says, with a shrug too casual to suit how he’s really feeling. _You had one job, Julio._ “Man, I’m... “ _Terrible._ “...sorry.” He shifts uncomfortably, moving to put an arm around ‘Star’s waist and then thinking better of it at the last moment. 

Now is not the time. 

He cringes at his own joke, and folds his arms in his lap. “So, uh… what do we do?” 

"We sit here for a moment and relax, and you—" 'Star turns to him and leans close. "Do not blame yourself for this. It's most likely a disturbance in the flow of time itself that stopped us from returning to our desired destination." And he won't have Rictor thinking any other way. "If we cannot return, perhaps we ended up at the next best destination." 

A year and a half in the future. 

'Star can see the unease in Ric's body language so he leans in a bit closer and kisses him lightly before pulling away more quickly than he really wanted to. "We will just have to find the date and time and then restart X-Factor properly." 

Because it's just that easy.

Rictor looks back to the billboard, staring it down as though he might intimidate it into uprooting itself and lumbering away. Lorna Dane stares back at him, larger-than-life and smiling somewhat falsely into the distance. Her new uniform is yellow and black, and Rictor draws a quick comparison between worker bees and giant hive-like corporations, before deciding that’s too melodramatic, and moving on.

“I bet Jamie is pissed,” he comments, and then his gut twists. He catches ‘Star by the arm, turning to face him with a look of panic in his eyes. “You don’t think—” 

Rictor could be thinking one of two things. "Well. Jamie is certainly not dead because his daughter—" Well, Ric should know all about that without ‘Star having to explain it again. “Unless you’re speaking about him selling the X-Factor name.” It wasn't his first thought, but depending on circumstances, it's a viable explanation.

"Shall we visit this All-New X-Factor?" 'Star raises an eyebrow and gives Ric a look that says that no matter his answer, he’s going to get to the bottom of this. 

Rictor doesn’t look any less worried however. “‘Star, what if—” he gestures at the billboard, tilting his head but refusing to look at it, as though Lorna finally won the staring contest. “—what if that’s how it all starts? Future Earth? The kidnappings? _Evil X-Factor_?”

“Then we stop it. Or at the very least demand some answers.” It’s just a bit unfortunate that they really aren’t in any position to do that. “Serval Industries should be easy enough to find. Let’s track down Miss Dane and ask her.” Along with the rest of the members of this so-called X-Factor. “If we suspect something malevolent, then we destroy that corporation.” It’s well within the realm of something they are both very capable of. Though… they were supposed to be coming home to friends, not fighting against them. It’s more than a bit unsettling and ‘Star knows Rictor is probably feeling the same way.

Rictor sighs, feeling the weight on his chest settle heavier than before. “Okay,” he says, more for his own benefit than ‘Star’s. The last thing he wants to do is fight against someone he used to consider a team-mate, but he’s done it before and—if what they’ve seen is set in stone—one day he’ll have to do it again.

“Okay,” he repeats, a little more confident this time. “But we need intel. Times, dates. The team configuration. We need to know who—and what—we’re dealing with here, so that we’re not going in without a plan.” He leans back on the steps, stretching his arms above his head and yawning without being able to stop himself. “I can probably get us into their systems, but I’ll need a computer.” He yawns. “And a nap. Dude, it’s been like two days, and I know you don’t sleep much, but…” he trails off, all thoughts of hacking and insidious corporations pushed aside by something much more daunting. “We’d better find a place to stay.”

‘Star lets a little bit of a smile creep onto his face. He slides his hand into one of the pockets in his jacket, pulling out a fairly large roll of twenty dollar bills. “I still have a bit of our winnings from when we made that small stop over in Las Vegas,” They had just happened to end up there while jumping from place to place and ‘Star had insisted they take at least a small amount of time to collect themselves. “You find a place to stay and I will get you the resources you need while you rest.” It’s a sound plan, it’s why ‘Star suggested it, but the thought of being back and then immediately parting ways with Ric for even just a small amount of time... “Or maybe we could both use a nap.”

That may just be a better plan. “What would you like to do?”

“We should look for a place together,” Rictor says, knowing he’ll regret suggesting that even before he says it. ‘Star, though pragmatic and strategy-oriented in battle, is utterly hopeless when it comes to making practical domestic decisions, and he’ll probably be lucky if they both come out of any apartment-hunting expedition alive. “Just somewhere small,” he adds hastily. “We probably won’t be there for long, anyway.”

“Something small,” ‘Star repeats back, scooting just a little closer to Ric. “For tonight however,” he looks past Ric and that billboard still foreboding in the background to the sun that’s starting to set. “A nice hotel?” Something with a large bed and a big shower and fluffy towels. Perhaps he shouldn't be thinking about small, trivial things like this with what could be at stake, but it’s been so long since they could just relax for more than just a few hours. Not to mention that there is something about being back on earth that makes him want to indulge a bit. A craving for nostalgia. For a time when things were not so ‘do or die.’ ‘Star puts the money down next to Ric, finally turning back to him.

A smile flickers across Rictor’s lips, faint but definitely there. “We’ve got time,” he decides. They’ve been through a lot, and there’s a lot more ahead of them, but he’s exhausted, and there’s a lot of planning to do. Besides, he was really looking forward to that shower.

\--

They end up at the Waldorf Astoria on Park Ave, having caught a bus across town. The receptionist seems unlikely to let them in, and Rictor is ready to argue with her—“What, you’ve got a problem with us sharing a room?” he snaps, even though he’d seen her narrow her eyes at their clothes and knows it’s probably more because they look like they’d just come back from several weeks without a shower in outer space, which… they had—until ‘Star intervenes. He calmly informs the receptionist that they’ll be paying in cash, and winks at her, which earns him a dirty look from Rictor.

It works, though. The receptionist produces a key from the desk drawer and turns to ‘Star, holding it out to him. “Your room key, Mr…?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Richter.” ‘Star repeats back with that winning smile and it’s hard to tell for a moment if he’s smiling because he gets to say that’s his last name, or if he’s still just trying to charm her. It’s probably a little of both.

“Mr. Richter.” She gives him the key and another smile before watching them walk off.

New York City is just full of surprises.

They have eyes following them as they walk across the marble foyer and to the elevator, uncomfortably sharing it with three other people on their way up to the room. “I wonder why they no longer play music in these,” ‘Star asks and with the way he phrases it, no one can be completely certain if he’s wondering aloud or actually asking. Does that question even have an answer?

“Turned out there was an ancient curse surrounding piano covers of _The Girl From Ipanema_ ,” Ric tells him, very seriously. The elevator stops and the speakers announce their presence on the seventeenth floor. Ric steps out, elbowing past the people blocking the door and pulling ‘Star after him in a bid to leave before somebody laughs or corrects his statement.

He glances up and down the hallway and heads in the appropriate direction, finding their door and fumbling with the key in his eagerness to enter. Once inside, he drops his backpack at the door and hurries off to find the bathroom.

‘Star watches him go and breathes in a sigh of relief as he walks over to the bed and slides his jacket off, setting the short swords he was carrying under it on the desk before laying across the large mattress. There are accent pillows everywhere and it’s eating up a lot of space, but he doesn't particularly care right at the moment. It’s soft and warm, and soon Rictor will be out of the shower to add more warmth to the bed. He’s very much looking forward to that part. For a moment as he closes his eyes, all thoughts of where they had just come from and where they have been slip out of his mind.

The bathroom decor is so over-the-top that Rictor can’t help but laugh. It’s not his style at all, but after spending almost a year constantly on the run through time and space, traipsing across impossibly humid and dusty alien planets, he figures he deserves this, even if it is a bit ridiculous. He stares longingly at the bathtub for a few seconds before deciding against it. ‘Star probably wants to shower after him, and given how tall he is, there’s probably not enough room for both of them in the bath.

He turns the taps on for the shower and lets the water run while he undresses. There are chafe marks where his shoulder armor has rubbed against his skin, and patches of dirt let in by the holes in his old clothes. He’s got countless bruises, and one particularly nasty scar running from his hip to the lower part of his sternum. He twists to inspect it in the mirror, noting with a grimace that it’s looking a little bit more swollen around the edges than it was yesterday. He should probably get that checked out - nobody’s looked at it since he had ‘Star stitch it up for him after the fight in which he got it.

He steps into the shower, wincing when the water hits the scar. Apart from that, the water is hot and exactly what he needs to wash away the dirt and ease the ache in his muscles. He sighs, and hopes he’ll be able to muster the willpower to leave the shower before the water runs cold.

When Ric leaves the bathroom ‘Star is still sprawled out across the bed,  jacket and undershirt off and now his hair is down as well. It’s a bit of a tangled mess, but it’s nothing that a shower won’t fix. He’s reading the newspaper that was tucked in the drawer for them. “It’s the year 2014. We’ve traveled exactly one year after we left.” Not that they really _left_ so much as got pulled into the future. How much could have really changed in a year? “Did you enjoy your shower?” ‘Star lets his eyes move over Ric’s body appreciatively. The scars and bruises only seem to amplify how attractive ‘Star finds his lover.  

Ric answers in the affirmative, reaching up to run a hand through his hair to smooth out the tangles. He hasn’t brushed it properly since they left, and he doesn’t see any reason to start now. More out of habit than anything, he tugs a few strands to the front and begins twisting them into a braid. He’s done this so many times he doesn’t even have to think about it anymore.

“Bathroom’s nice,” he says shortly, sitting down on the foot of the bed. His skin is damp, and he’s naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. “And I think I’ve gotta go see a doctor about this,” he inspects the scar again. Somehow it seems even nastier now that he’s hunched over to look at it instead of seeing it in the mirror. “I cleaned it, but it might be too late.” It’s healing, but if it’s infected, then he’s in trouble. “Tomorrow, though. Now, I just…” he finishes the sentence without words, falling back onto the bed and sinking into the pillows with an entirely inappropriate groan.

“I will take a look at your wound in the morning.” ‘Star shifts and is then hovering above Ric on the bed. “But I think you will be just fine.” He should probably take a shower as well considering what he wants to do, but he can’t help himself. ‘Star leans down and kisses Ric’s shoulder before he starts to trail them up his collarbone and then to his neck. “Your skin is warm,” He breathes out, the sweet smell of soap still lingering. “We should have taken that shower together.” They probably wouldn't have fit but it’s still a nice sentiment even if it’s after the fact. When he moves his hands down, he’s careful to avoid Ric’s scar, just tenderly skirting around the sensitive skin. ‘Star knows just where to press when he pushes just slightly past the towel hanging off of the smaller man’s waist. He’s had plenty of time to map out every single part of Rictor’s body.

“You could’ve followed me in,” Ric gasps mid-sentence, tilting his head to the side to give ‘Star better access to his neck. There might not have been quite enough room, but Ric doesn’t mind the idea of being pressed against ‘Star in a small enclosed space anyway.

What he does mind is ‘Star being all over him like this when he’s just had a shower. ‘Star doesn’t sweat as much as Ric does - barely at all - but he’s just as dusty and dirty as Ric was before the shower, and while it’s not exactly a turn-off, Ric is trying to be level-headed.

“You’re gross,” he says, barely protesting and making no move to stop him. “Go shower before you — _hhh_ — before we both get too worked up.” He’s not sure how much more worked up he could get, but it’s worth a shot.

'Star hesitates for a moment before pulling away with a sigh. He's frowning but it's not as if he doesn't understand. "I will shower, but do not fall asleep while I am gone." He gives Ric a stern look before pulling himself away and and stalking over to the bathroom. He strips on his way there, taking his belts off and then letting his pants fall away. Rictor gets quite a sight before 'Star vanishes into the bathroom. It's a relief that these pipes don't groan when he turns on the water; the last shower they had barely had any hot water and it's amazing to see steam rise as soon as the spray starts. To say it feels good to step under the hot water would be an understatement. 'Star takes some times smelling all the little soaps and shampoos before properly washing and watching as the grime circles the drain.

It's not long before he emerges, a towel around his waist and one twisted up over his hair. He'd seen Monet do it before but hadn't had the opportunity to try it while his hair was short. "We are allowed to take all the little soaps with us when we leave, yes?" It's important.

“Yep,” Ric confirms, rolling his eyes at ‘Star’s hair-towel but smiling in spite of himself. He lies back on the bed, untwisting the towel from around his waist and letting it fall to the side. He’s hard, and there are water droplets collecting in the hair on his chest, and pink marks showing up on his neck from where ‘Star was kissing it. It occurs to him that they haven’t slept together properly, in a bed, since…

Before Vegas, he concludes, feeling a sudden jolt of nerves and excitement travel from his chest to the pit of his stomach. _Oh_ , he thinks, gazing over at ‘Star and taking in everything, like if he stares for long enough, he might remember it all later like a photograph. _So, technically, this is…_

“C’mere,” he says, voice low and quiet with want. He holds out his arms, and waits for ‘Star to fall into them.

'Star does just that, towels falling away and climbing into the bed, letting Ric wrap his arms around him. It's nice to just slide up like this with their bodies both warm and clean and mmm just being presses against Ric like this. He kisses his chest before letting his head just rest there for a moment. Every now and again, he just likes to stop for a moment to hear Rictor's heart beat. This is one of those moments. 'Star stays there for a minute before reaching out to run his hand through Ric's damp chest hair. "This is nice," and he really means that. Not that 'Star could lie even if he wanted to.

It’s a quirk that Rictor has become familiar with, especially lately. He wonders about that. They’ve been running for so long, away from one fight and into the next with barely enough time to catch their breath. Does ‘Star listen to his heartbeat to reassure himself that he’s alive? That they survived it all, together, and Ric’s still safe in his arms instead of lost or left behind or worse?

Normally he wouldn’t want to think about it, but there’s something to be said for how long they’ve held their own against all this; how strong they are when they stand together, and what a miracle it is that they still have each other after everything they’ve been through. This - the constant danger, the risks, the feeling that no matter how much they’ve done, they’ll never truly be ready to settle down - this is them. It defines them, and it holds them together, and if Ric is honest, he loves it as much as he loves ‘Star himself.

He grins, and lifts ‘Star off him, switching their places and moving in to kiss him.

'Star moans into the kiss, moving his hands to squeeze the tight, coiled muscles he can feel as his fingers inch up Ric's back. 'Star knows that it's hard for both of them to relax the way they used to be able to but at least they can catch small moments like this. He lets his tongue tease the bottom of Ric's lip, just savoring the sensation before making it anything more. The changes in their life have also made them more patient, content to just bask in each other's company instead of being too eager to pull each other's clothes off and make love.

'Star does love to have sex, but he likes kissing Rictor as well.

Ric sees no reason why he can’t multi-task.

He kisses ‘Star slowly and deeply, meeting ‘Star’s tongue with his own only briefly before pulling back for air and starting over again. He’s teasing, holding himself just high enough above ‘Star that their bodies aren’t touching, save for their mouths and ‘Star’s hands on his back and the occasional brush of ‘Star’s cock against Rictor’s thigh. He moves just out of reach whenever it happens, arching up until he’s only inches away, but never close enough. He can be patient, but only when he knows there’s something worth waiting for.

He might be in control but he’s nervous. Even now, after being together for over a year, after… everything, being close to ‘Star like this still makes him feel like he’s a teenager again, like they’re still young and awkwardly dancing around each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. He realizes he was in love back then, even if he didn’t know it, and he still is now, and no amount of time spent together seems to be able to quell the metaphorical butterflies in his stomach.

"You're being a tease." 'Star has to say it when he pulls away from the kiss to breathe. It's really not that he minds, but he was hard the moment that Ric walked out of the shower and slight touches just make him want to grab onto Ric and press their bodies together. It's that urge that will never go away. He recalls the last time they made love, crushed together in a cramped space because there was no other way. "Unless that's your intent."

He should know by now that it most likely is.

Ric follows him down, stealing short kisses even as he gasps for breath. He holds the distance between them, but doesn’t pull away when ‘Star’s hands move to his hips. “If there’s something you want,” he purrs, lips almost touching ‘Star’s ear, “I’m not going to stop you from taking it.”

"Is that so?" 'Star arches up, pressing Ric down so their cocks touch. "What exactly do you want me to take? It sounds like you had something in mind." His eyes are hooded with lust, grabbing Ric's ass and growling in the back of his throat when his cock rubs against his hip. He's not aiming for a certain rhythm; he just knows how far he can wind his lover up. What he needs to do to encourage those filthy words to pour out of Ric's mouth.

This time, Ric doesn't pull away. Instead he lets 'Star tug him down, joining their mouths in a kiss and swallowing the next growl that escapes 'Star's throat. It isn't gentle, and there's no finesse to it. 'Star bites his lip - he suspects accidentally - and Ric returns the favor, nipping at 'Star's jawline and sucking a mark onto his neck.

"Anything," he answers. "Me, however you want me. Or..." he adds, slyly, "maybe it's your turn."

"Is that a challenge?" 'Star asks but he already knows the answer. "Do you want to see if you can make me beg for you to fuck me?" His hand moves from Ric's shoulder to slide down to his neck, grabbing it and squeezing just slightly. "Let me see what you've got, Julio."

Rictor sinks down to close the gap between their bodies, rolling his hips forward as he does. Moving presses his throat against ‘Star’s hand, and when he moans, it’s choked and quiet.

“You’re already begging me,” he says, breathless. He hasn’t pulled away from ‘Star’s grip, only moved back enough to gulp down air in anticipation. He doesn’t need to tell ‘Star how much he wants this. It shows in his expression, in the way his knees tremble, in the way his cock twitches against ‘Star’s hip. He can sense the same reactions in ‘Star - his body language, the way he smells, that lightning spark of something nameless that moved between them when ‘Star’s hand made contact with Ric’s neck.

Ric slides his hand down between them, down the hard, flat planes of ‘Star’s chest and stomach and past his hip to his inner thigh. He pushes ‘Star’s legs apart, fingertips digging into the muscle of his thigh, and moves to kneel between them. Then he catches ‘Star’s hand - the one that’s still on his throat - and guides it into his hair instead, all but inviting him to pull it. He moves down, kissing a path from ‘Star’s chest to the sparse hair trailing up from his cock, and stops before he gets there, looking up at ‘Star with a smirk on his lips and light in his eyes that spells the worst kind of mischief. “You want me to make you beg?” he asks, almost taunting. “That’s nothing. I’m going to make you scream.”

'Star has to take a moment to catch his breath, words and air leaving him the moment Ric spoke. "I'll invite you to try." He grips that messy hair tight, debating for a moment where he wants to guide that amazing mouth. He could pull Ric back, arch his hips up and press his cock into his mouth. Take him rough and hard like he would if he were fucking him any other way. Or—he could loosen his grip on Rictor, slide back against the pillows and let Julio have complete control. Whimper for every little thing he gives him. Beg for more.

'Star gives Ric's hair a hard pull before letting his hand slip away. "On second thought, Julio. Do your worst."

Rictor starts slow. He moves his hand down from ‘Star’s thigh to under his knee, lifting it and then the other so that ‘Star’s hips are angled upwards and his legs are wrapped snug around Ric’s waist. They’ve done this before, and Rictor doesn’t need to speak to let ‘Star know what he wants.

When he does speak though, it’s only to add fuel to the fire. “If you’re not going to show me what you want,” he says, curling forward and tilting his head down. His mouth is so close to ‘Star’s cock that ‘Star can probably feel his breath on it when he talks. “Then you could at least tell me.” He had been looking forward to ‘Star taking control; had ached for the feeling of his hand clenched tight in his hair, and burned up thinking about gasping for breath with ‘Star’s hand around his neck or his cock buried deep in Ric’s throat, but the idea of ‘Star speaking to him (or trying to, if he can string a sentence together at all once Ric’s started with him) turns him on just as much.

"You want me to be in control?" 'Star manages even though Ric's breath against his cock makes his stomach tighten with arousal. "I'm always in control." It's said with a smirk, a bit of arrogance in his voice before he reaches down to grab Ric by the hair and pull him all the way up, switching positions and pressing him hard against the headboard of the bed. "I know you’re always thinking about me. How often you touch yourself.” 'Star leans in to whisper in his ear, hand moving back around his throat and tightening. "You truly are filthy, Julio." He uses his free hand to grab both of their cocks, stroking them together.

Rictor lets himself be manhandled, splaying out against the mattress with his arms out beside his head, bracing himself against the headboard. He closes his eyes, arching up into 'Star's hand, and moans, though it's cut off again by the pressure on his throat. When 'Star relents, Ric barely gives himself time to breathe before he's talking again. "Make up your mind," he gasps, moving his hips in time with 'Star's motions. "Honestly, man, I'm starting to think you just can't control yourself around me." He smirks back, opening his eyes a fraction to look 'Star over. "Is this what I do to you?"

'Star groans again as he moves his hand to stroke them again. Ric does do this to him but he's certainly not going to tell him that, not now. Not after that comment. "I've always been measured," 'Star presses his thumb against Ric's throat, teasing a cut off to his air supply. "I’m more in control than you, Julio. Or are you forgetting the hours I could pleasure you without even asking for release?" It's a bit different now, harder to do that when it's been so long, but he's still capable.

Ric forces himself to relax, knowing from experience how bad this could get if he can't regulate his breathing. He trusts 'Star with this - he thinks he'd trust 'Star with anything - but he doesn't completely trust himself, and the last thing he wants is for them to have to stop.

"Sure, maybe it's that," he's breathless and barely audible, and every word comes out strained, like it's an effort, but somehow his tone is still smug and almost taunting. "Or maybe you're putting this all on me because you're afraid to let go. How long's it been for you, 'Star? I know you don't," he pauses, " _touch yourself_ ," he quotes, with a frighteningly good impression of 'Star's accent, "as much as I do. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were nervous." He winks. "I still remember the face you make when you —"

'Star's grip loosens and his fingers move up Ric's neck to tilt his chin up, eyes meeting when he moves up. "When I what?" He asks, though he's sure that he knows. He's moaned Ric's name so many times while coming, the sound and tone and expression on his face are probably ingrained in his lover’s head. "The last time I fucked you, you were squirming against the wall of that ship we stowed away on." Pressed together so tight, both exhausted but wanting it so badly. "So I know you're not talking about that." 'Star's touch that was tender for a moment turns rough as he grab's Ric's jaw, forcing his head to the side. "So what could you be on about?" 'Star licks a stripe up Rictor's neck before biting down hard.

"The face you make when you come." Ric bites his lip to stifle the noise he makes when he feels 'Star's teeth on his neck. "Or — actually, the face you make when I _make you_ come." He doesn't resist when 'Star moves him, no matter how rough he is; not only because he wants it (and god, he does) but because he knows resistance is what 'Star is looking for. "When I'm looking up at you from on my knees, or facing you when we -" he stops, and laughs a short, breathless laugh, and he licks his lips. "- when I'm fucking you," he corrects himself, and continues. "That's the face. Haven't - _ugh_ \- seen that in a while."

"Is that what you want?" 'Star says as he pulls away and admires the mark he just made. It's a balance between them, pushing and pulling each other. It reminds 'Star of battles with worthy opponents and he loves every second. "You want me to lean back and spread my legs for you," He chuckles darkly in Ric's ear. "To whimper about how much I want your cock inside of me." He mock whines the words. "If you want something like that, you're going to have to make me. Let me see what's really behind that sneer of yours." 'Star suspects that Ric would be glad to if he could coax it out of him.

“I could.” Ric keeps his hands on the headboard, resisting the urge to poke at the soreness of his throat. He doesn’t need to have his fingers to his pulse to know that his heart is racing, so fast and so hard that ‘Star can probably hear it. He moves his thigh against ‘Star’s side, nudging him slightly, hinting at the fact that if he wanted to, he could push ‘Star off him and onto the bed without much effort. ‘Star might be strong, but he weighs only half of what Rictor does, and Rictor has leverage. “You wanted my mouth, huh? I could give you that, if you let me. On your cock, or…” he quirks an eyebrow, smirking slightly, “... anywhere else you want it.” His gaze meets ‘Star’s and he stares him down, almost unblinking. “But I’m guessing if I did, you wouldn’t bother to beg. You’d just pin me down and fuck me.” He stops, and swallows. His mouth is watering. “Am I wrong?”

"You're not wrong," 'Star growls and pulls back, grabbing Ric's arm and pulling him toward the end of the bed before hovering above him like a predator observing its prey. "I could have you any way I want you, but I know just the thing." He leans down, grabbing something beside the bed and returning to his previous position. He knew keeping one of Ric's green bandanas in his things would come in handy for something. "It's important, however," 'Star takes the green cloth and pulls it taught before roughly gagging Ric with it, tying it in a quick but tight knot around the back of his head. "That we shut that mouth of yours." He inspects his work for a moment before flipping the smaller man onto his belly and sinking down to between his legs, fingers tracing the curve of Ric's ass. He's going to devour him like this, spread Ric wide and taste him before fucking him into the mattress.

Ric closes his eyes, hiding his face in the pillows (though he’s sure his blush extends past his face at this point) and silently thanking the universe for showers, and for whatever dirty movie ‘Star watched that introduced him to these kinds of ideas, and for ‘Star in general.

He’s already gotten what he wanted out of taunting ‘Star, provoking him, but he still has the urge to talk back, to tell ‘Star to shut up about what he’s going to do and start actually doing it. But ‘Star tied the knot in the same practiced, efficient way he does everything, and the fabric is tight between his teeth, and all he manages in the end is a muffled “god, yeah, _please_ ” that probably just sounds like a moan. It doesn’t matter. He’s always been better at communicating via his actions, anyway. He arches up, parting his legs shamelessly, not caring if ‘Star finds out how desperate he is for this. The only thing he regrets is that he probably won’t have time to return the favor, at least not today.

'Star doesn't waste time, spreading Rictor wide and leaning close to swipe his tongue across that tight ring of now-exposed muscle. He does it once and then again before starting to lick in a gentle rhythm. He doesn't need to be rough with this and he knows that licking Ric like this will just prove to undo him faster. 'Star takes his time, making sure to leave him wet enough before gripping Ric's ass hard and finally pressing his tongue in. No more teasing. He could pull away and fuck him now but watching Ric come apart slowly in front of him, hearing muffled moans and feeling him shake is much better.

Ric squirms, feeling a tremor build in his chest and frantically trying to calm himself before he sets anything shaking. He’s usually good at this; at reining in his powers even when everything else is coming undone, but it’s been a while. It’s been ages.

It’s always been harder to hold back his powers when he’s also trying to keep quiet.

He’s suddenly struck by the feeling that ‘Star, somehow, anticipated this. Normally, he’d turn around and try to regain the upper hand with some kind of witty comeback, but he’s not exactly in the position to be doing that either.

Then ‘Star pushes his tongue in deeper, and Ric finds he’s not in the position to do anything but press his face into the bedsheets and try not to scream too loud.

'Star hopes that Ric can feel him smile against skin when he hears that muffled scream, working his tongue just a little bit deeper before pulling away and just licking lightly again. 'Star is a master at compartmentalizing and he could torture Ric for hours like this without needing to get off but...it's been so long and he can feel the throb of his cock between his legs as he works Rictor. He knows there is lube in Ric's backpack but that's all the way across the room. 'Star finds himself weighing pros and cons as he pulls away, leaving a trail of saliva behind him. He takes in the sight of Ric like this for a moment before leaving the bed completely to grab the lube.

The gag ( _the bandana_ , Ric reminds himself, _my bandana, which I wear around my neck, in public, which I will never be able to look at again without thinking of this and probably having to sit down for a while, oh fuck_ ) feels almost too tight, chafing on the corners of his mouth, but he couldn’t ask ‘Star to fix it even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. There’s only one thing on his mind right now, and ‘Star appears to already be on the case.

‘Star’s not gone for long, but it feels like ages. Ric aches, feels simultaneously raw and empty, as though he’s only half of a whole, waiting to be joined again. He’d never trust anyone else with this - not sex, because god knows he has (and mostly regretted it), but with being vulnerable like this, with plainly and openly _wanting things_ without trying to deny it. ‘Star doesn’t just get to him. He takes him apart and pieces him back together afterwards, and every time he does, Ric feels just a little bit better. Newer. Less tired, and more…

Happy. He thinks, maybe, that he might actually be _happy._

He’s also, currently, so wound up that it’s taking everything he has to not try to get off against the mattress, or beg ‘Star with words made incomprehensible, or shake the building down around them by accident. He manages. Barely.

It's a slicked finger against him that brings him out of his thoughts and 'Star sliding it around before starting to press in so slowly. He doesn't want to go this slow but he knows he should and even with the implications of what they had been doing and the position Ric is in now...he can't help but take care with this. One finger turns into two and 'Star pushes in and pulls back with the perfect rhythm for this stretch. He uses his free hand to slick himself, rubbing the head of his cock on Ric's ass. "Should I loosen the gag?" He finally says. "So I can hear you moan for me?" He curls his fingers up just a bit.

Rictor nods quickly, mumbling his assent. He could probably articulate what he wanted from ‘Star through body language alone, but he wants to say it - or moan it, if that’s how this is going to go. He knows what ‘Star is getting out of this. Silencing Rictor isn’t what this is about. What it’s about is hearing every filthy word that escapes his lips once the gag comes off, and once this is done, once he’s spent and sticky and stretched out boneless on the bed, Rictor will have had ample time to think of something to say.

'Star pulls it off with little effort and tosses it on the floor, smirking as he feels Ric shiver. "Mmm better?" He pulls his fingers out and moves himself to press his cock against Ric's ass, rubbing around that slick hole before pressing in just slightly. He wanted to take it agonizingly slow but once 'Star starts, he can't help himself. He grabs Rictor's hips tight and pushes himself the rest of the way in. It's rougher than he would have liked, but it will have to do for now.

Rictor doesn't even try to keep quiet. He cries out, not with pain but with the pressure and the sensation and the sudden fullness he feels. He had wanted to tell 'Star not to wait, not to bother teasing like that when he was already desperate. He's not surprised that he didn't have to. They're on the same wavelength, or maybe they've just known each other (watched each other, liked each other, loved each other) long enough that even the smallest indicators are obvious.

Or maybe he was right, and 'Star really can't control himself when he's around him.

He wastes no time in telling him that. He's on edge already, tightly coiled, and tight around 'Star's cock, but he knows he can push this further, if he wants it.

And, _oh_ , he wants it.

"Told you," he grits out, triumphant between gasps. "I knew you wouldn't be able to hold back." Then 'Star changes his angle, and Ric is seeing stars, and he's suddenly a lot less smug. "I —" he moans, barely managing to muffle it. "God, 'Star, people are gonna _hear_ —"

"Then scream for me, baby." 'Star says back and it's sometimes clear that he hasn't purged everything he picked up from casually watching porn from his system yet. He's enthusiastic, equal parts aroused and high off of the constant teasing and the control he's finally got over Ric. He's buried deep within him and even though moving sends ripples of pleasure through him, Ric is so tight around him that just the pressure could make him come.

He wants to say something else but all that leaves 'Stars mouth once he gets into a rhythm are moans and grunts and everything animal and guttural at once.

The sound of his voice sends a shiver down Rictor's spine. Even when he's paraphrasing porn dialogue, 'Star sounds deadly serious. His voice is deep and hearing him say things like that in that accent makes Rictor feel weak at the knees. It's always been like that, right from the beginning. 'Star is literally otherworldly and devastatingly handsome and honestly a bit ridiculous. There is nobody else like him in the world, and probably out of it, too. Ric loves him. He doesn't know how he didn't realize it sooner.

He doesn't tell him that. What he tells him, in tones already rough with want, is:

"Make me."

'Star laughs shortly but it's tempered by a moan as he grips Ric's hips hard enough to leave bruises. After this, he's going to make sure to run his fingers over ever mark he made, ghost his lips over them as he tells Ric how amazing his body is but now, now he's just going to fuck him mercilessly. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, feeling Ric shift with it and making a point to do it again with just as much force.

It's not long before he's panting and moaning, plastered against the smaller mans back as  they come together again and again with a simple snap of hips. "I'm going—" 'Star growls and he can't help himself as he lets go inside of Ric with a loud moan and a rush of arousal that's dizzying.

Rictor talks him through it, encouraging him, telling him how good he feels and how hot he is and how long Ric's been wanting to do this. He starts out in English and switches to Spanish and then to Cadre without even thinking about it, too caught up in the moment and the closeness and the impossible warmth. The feeling builds up slow and then overtakes him suddenly, leaving him breathing hard and clinging to the sheets and crying out 'Star's name.

His shoulders ache and his legs feel no more substantial than water, and he sinks down onto the bed, panting. He lets 'Star lie on top of him, comforted by his weight and not quite ready to be apart from him yet. He breathes out, letting his chest rise and fall to match the pattern of 'Star's own breathing.

‘Star actually needs a few moments, the exhaustion equal parts his orgasm and the bone tiredness he can feel seeping into him from their travels. His hands are the first thing to move, sliding up Ric’s sides to feel his warmth and the expanse of skin before he manages to roll off of him. “Julio.” Shatterstar groans as he grabs Ric’s arm, pulling his lover on top of him. “That was amazing.” It always is, and ‘Star is always compelled to tell him after they have finished. It might go without saying and it probably does, but he just can’t help himself. Maybe Rictor was right, and he can’t help himself when he’s around. And it’s not just sex but everything. This man makes him feel so much more alive than any battle or gladiatorial duel ever could.

He kisses the top of Ric’s forehead before his head hits the bed again, strawberry blonde hair splaying out all over the place.

Rictor reaches up, brushing 'Star's hair away from his face with careful fingers. He liked it when it was short, but he loves it now that it's long again. Later he'll help 'Star braid it (two braids, both at the front on the left side; one for each year they were away together). It's a ritual of sorts between the two of them, something they took from the traditions of the Cadre on Mojoworld and adapted to make it uniquely their own.

Later they'll have to shower again, and change the bedsheets, and sleep. For the moment, though, Ric is content to just lay there and kiss 'Star slowly, feeling his heartbeat calm with their chests pressed together. His hair - the long side - falls like a curtain around them, still damp at the ends and brushing against 'Star's cheek.

“I love you.” ‘Star says and when he pulls back, his lips are still red from the deep kiss. He takes a moment to drink in Ric’s relaxed expression and his features that seem to have only gotten more rugged and attractive with time. He leans in close to press a kiss to his cheek and then right on the edge of his lips where that bandana made the skin a tinge bit red. “I think we have thoroughly sullied the bed.” They have done quite a bit more than that, and probably disturbed the neighbors in the process, but it was more than worth it.

"I think we've, uh, thoroughly sullied a lot of things," Ric says sheepishly, thinking of his poor green bandana. He'll probably have to wear it soon, too - he can feel bruises forming on his neck where 'Star's hands had been. He's not sure how he's going to cope with that, with seeing those there and remembering this vividly every time he does.

He kisses 'Star again, lightly on the lips and then on his nose, his cheeks, his forehead. He frames 'Star's face with his hand, tracing his thumb along his cheekbone. He's close enough to count the freckles on 'Star's nose and across the chiseled bridge of his cheekbones, if he could be bothered to count high enough. " _Te amo,_ 'Star," he whispers, smiling against 'Star's hair.

'Star smiles, shining and brilliant. "Amazing," he repeats, talking about every part of Ric this time, not the just sex. He just wants to stay here splayed out on the bed and he intends to do just that. Even the mission they were slowly piecing together on the way here is a little hazy in 'Star's mind. He blames the lack of sex for so long that's got him side tracked. Or maybe it's the arch of Rictor's body still pressed against him.

Rictor rolls to the side, gathering 'Star in his arms and holding him so close their noses touch. Up close, he looks even more tired (but not in a bad way - he doesn’t have dark circles under his eyes like Ric does, and it would take him weeks to grow the stubble that Ric’s currently sporting after a grand total of three days). Ric is about to suggest they return to the shower, but then ‘Star yawns, and Ric inwardly curses him for it. He’s always been a sucker for that; probably because when ‘Star first came to earth, he didn’t need to sleep at all. He still doesn’t sleep as much as Ric does, but the fact that he does it at all shows how human he’s become.

“Sleep, _corazón_.” He knows he’s going to regret not showering when he wakes up, but he’s dead tired as well, and waking up feeling gross and sticky seems like something he can deal with if it means he gets to sleep now.

They’ve spent the past year sleeping only minutes at a time, taking turns at watching out for each other. It occurs to Ric, as he drifts off, that he doesn’t even remember the last time they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

—

Rictor might have to wake up in time to go out before all the stores close, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

There’s no alarm to wake him, but he doesn’t need one, and hasn’t for several months now. Some survival instinct, some weird lizard-brain thing that’s only kicked into gear since he left Earth, allows him to wake up every couple of hours like clockwork. It was useful on Mojoworld, and Future Earth, but he’s got a strong suspicion he’ll begin to hate it within a few days now that they’re back.

He carefully pulls his arm out from under ‘Star, wincing a little at the pins-and-needles feeling that ensues. ‘Star, fortunately, doesn’t even stop snoring.

Ric takes a moment (or two, or several) to watch him, observing the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the spread of his hair across the pillow. _Dios, Julio,_ he thinks to himself. _You’ve got it bad._

He showers quickly, getting a little overzealous with the fancy hotel soaps. He feels just as disgusting as he predicted he would before he went to sleep, and he wants that over with as soon as possible. When he’s done, he wipes away some of the steam on the mirror and inspects the marks on his throat. They’re a dark, angry reddish-purple, and he can see very clearly the imprint of ‘Star’s fingers just beside his adam’s apple.

Usually he’d cover it with the bandana, but that’s currently somewhere on the floor of the bedroom, possibly a little ruined, spit-soaked, and definitely unwearable. He settles for the change of clothes he keeps in his backpack; a simple, slightly dusty set of military-style fatigues with a high collar. He checks them over for stains, scrubbing off the ones he finds under the faucet, and puts them on, tugging the collar up around his neck. He’s fond of them, but they’re not exactly standard Earth clothes. He figures he’ll buy something to change into while he’s out.

His first stop is the bank. He lost his card ages ago (whether he lost it on Mojoworld or in the future or just behind the sofa at X-Factor HQ, he doesn’t know, but it’s gone), but he rattles off his details, and the teller accepts it. He’s still got his entire life’s savings - unimpressive as they may be - hoarded in that single account.

He withdraws all of it at once, and stows it in his backpack.

His second destination is a Bloomingdales. He shops for the basics - jeans, t-shirts, underwear even though he knows ‘Star hates having to wear it, and socks to replace the pairs they wore out while travelling. He’s looking forward to having socks that aren’t only held together by stains and vain hope. He doesn’t bother with pyjamas - neither he nor ‘Star wear them - and decides to come back with ‘Star for anything more complex than the above. _Workout clothes,_ he remembers. _‘Star wanted workout clothes._ That’s a minefield if he ever saw one. ‘Star has very peculiar tastes.

There’s a shelf of turtleneck sweaters not unlike the one he wore in X-Factor, close to the counter. He deliberates briefly, then picks one up. The ache around his throat is dull, but constant.

He can’t help but wonder what all that means for them. It’s not that he isn’t into it - he is, and he always has been; he’s no longer ashamed to admit that he was drawn as much to ‘Star’s violence as he was to his softer side - but that some part of him thought things would be different. They’re back on earth. They’re _safe_. They should’ve come back and fallen gratefully into each other’s arms, and made love slowly and face-to-face in that totally over-the-top but actually kinda nice hotel room they booked.

Instead… well, instead, he let ‘Star gag him and fuck him from behind and choke him so hard he left bruises.

Thing is, though, he’s not sure he wants that to change.

He changes clothes in a public bathroom, shedding his Cadre olive drabs and slipping into blue jeans and the turtleneck sweater. He feels clean, and comfortable, but nowhere near normal.

An employee at the Apple store compliments his haircut. Ric suspects she’s flirting, and he compliments her in return, more out of obligation than anything. She’s a redhead, and he says he likes that. Inwardly, he is only thinking of ‘Star.

He spends much more than he planned to on a new laptop. It’s compact enough to fit in his backpack, and more than adequate for what he needs in terms of processing power. He’s planning to switch it over to a Stark Industries OS once he gets it home, but he doesn’t mention that to the attendant. He can’t help taking a peek inside the box once he leaves the store. It’s been so long since he’s bought anything nice for himself, or even touched a computer.

By the time he walks past the sex shop (the name of which is too embarrassing to bear repeating) on the way back to the bus station, he suspects he might have gone slightly mad with power. But, c’mon, he’s just spent a year and a half wading through extradimensional swamps and shaking dust out of his boots after battles. He deserves nice things.

He walks through the doors. The store attendant takes one look at his sweater and guides him to the back of the room with a smirk.

He reminds Ric a little of Rusty Collins, which is mostly unpleasant, because Ric had a crush on Rusty when they were teenagers, and Rusty died years ago. But he’s come too far now to be weirded out by old ghosts rattling chains among aisles of porn parody DVDs. He follows not-Rusty to the back of the store, and fields his questions about himself, his kinks, and ‘Star.

He makes it out of there about an hour later, a black box of various items tucked under his arm. During the time he spent in the store, he learned everything he kinda sorta wanted to know about vibrators, which he eventually laughed at, which led to him confessing his status as a mutant to the store attendant (whose name was Stephen, not Rusty, and not not-Rusty) and explaining the finer points of creative applications of his powers. He leaves the store with a sort of embarrassed grin on his face, and the distinct feeling that he may have over-shared when talking about his relationship with ‘Star. He may have even been boasting a bit, but hey, the guy did ask.

It’s dark by the time he gets on the bus. He’s the only person riding, and the stop closest to the hotel is almost deserted when he gets there. Almost. A guy in a dark blue hooded sweatshirt pulls a knife on him beside the bus shelter, demanding he hand over his wallet. Ric hits him with a seismic wave and leaves him unconscious on the pavement without even breaking a sweat.

In the elevator, on the way back up to the room he’s sharing with ‘Star, he realizes he’s still smiling.

‘Star’s awake when he gets back. He’s just stepping out of the shower, with a towel covering his hair, and nothing covering the rest of him. Ric crowds him against the wall and kisses him breathless.

They sit on the bed and begin their ritual. Ric weaves one extra braid into ‘Star’s hair, and, through some unspoken understanding, ‘Star does the same for him in return. Together, they look through the clothes Ric bought, but ‘Star doesn’t bother to put any on. Ric thinks he could get used to that.

It’s not until much later that night that Ric opens the box containing his new computer, sets it up, and makes his legally dubious way into Serval Industries’ systems.

He finds nothing suspicious, and that disturbs him more than anything.

 

 


	2. People Ric Has Slept With, Mostly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week in TIME COPS: old friends, familiar faces, flashbacks to Future Earth, and... Las Vegas?

**[Art](http://hurm.co.vu/post/111328388364/molecularmonster-okay-so-here-is-another) by [Jacki](http://bananasandguavas.tumblr.com/).**

 

It's not a long walk from the hotel to Serval Industries headquarters and as soon as they shuffle in the door, all eyes are on them. They can't get away with being back on Earth _and_ blending in, it seems. 'Star's always looked otherworldly, but he assumes this is mostly new for Rictor.

Nothing about the building seems all that insidious, business men bustling around and there is even a cute girl selling coffee at a stand in the corner.

"We are in the correct place, right?"

Rictor glances around, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He’d like to think that after Mojoworld, after everywhere else they’d been, after _hell itself_ , he’d be past being surprised by things. But here he is, in the lobby at Serval Industries, feeling more out-of-place now than he felt when he was literally in another universe. It reminds him of when he was a kid, adjusting to life in New York with the original X-Factor team. One memory in particular comes to mind. Skids - Sally Blevins - had woken him up in the middle of the night and dragged him off on a mission to save a friend in Central Park. Long story, but what he remembers most is seeing all the lights at night, all those impossibly tall buildings blinking bright against the sky, and how small, how overwhelmed he felt at the time. He’d never seen anything like it before.

He feels much the same now as he did then. Serval is unsettlingly futuristic, all chrome and cold impersonality. He resents it, and not just because it makes him miss X-Factor Investigations. The original X-Factor was a corporate team too, with an office building as its headquarters, and a corporate sponsor who --

\-- who Rictor really, _really_ doesn’t want to think about right now. Or ever.

“Yeah, we’re in the right place.” He shifts on his feet, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of several basement levels below the floor instead of just the earth. Of all the senses he lost when he was depowered, this is the one he missed the least. “Unless I didn’t look far enough through their files, and the whole thing is just a cover for some evil science lab where they mess with mutants.” He says it jokingly, but the absence of dirt under his feet seems more obvious than ever.

‘Star gives Rictor a look. They both know the implications of _mutant experimentation_ , and even coming from the far flung future, it’s hard to not look for threads of what might lead down that path. “I am going to talk to the front desk attendant. Perhaps you could try and figure out how many floors lie below this one.” He knows they’ve viewed the building blueprints, but ‘Star has a suspicion that this place may hold secrets inside other secrets.

He doesn’t wait for Ric to respond and walks past two men who were clearly waiting before him. “Excuse me! I need you to tell me where I can find a Miss Lorna Dane.”

The man looks puzzled for a moment, before making a sour expression, one that says: _leave me the fuck alone, I already deal with too many pushy people in one day._ “Sorry. You’re going to have to wait your turn, sir.” The last word is said tersely, as if the term is something not analogous with how ‘Star looks right now.

“I am not going to wait. Your cooperation may be a matter of life or death.” ‘Star has always been blunt, but after returning to Earth the first time and working with X-Factor he had been trying to work on it. Being gone again, back on Mojoworld and between the future and the past, has brought his brashness right back.  

“Yeah I’m sure it is, buddy--” The man barely gets the last word out before ‘Star yanks him over the desk and the papers that were in his hands go flying.

“You will tell me where I can find this All New X-Factor without a problem.” ‘Star’s mouth is twisted into a sneer. He’s going to have to work on getting his patience back in hostile situations on earth.

Rictor is on the other side of the room, sitting on the edge of a bench and surreptitiously pressing his hand to the ground to get a better sense of the location’s geography. He closes his eyes, trying to tune out the sound of people moving around him and focusing only on the earth. He senses it somewhere in the back of his mind, not so much a sixth sense as a combination of the pre-existing five; he could never explain _how_ , or what it feels like, but he feels it nonetheless.

And it’s faint. The basement floors seem to go on almost indefinitely.

He’s about to push himself further, to call out with that indescribable sense and see if the earth answers, when he hears the distinct sound of ‘Star _getting into fucking trouble again, holy hell, it’s been less than five minutes, why does this always --_

Rictor stands up calmly and makes his way over to the front desk.

“‘Star,” he says sternly, caught between laughing and shouting and trying very hard to do neither. “Let the nice man go.”

“Nice? He is far from _nice_.” ‘Star makes a point to say as he looks at Ric and throws the man in his grasp at his feet. It’s a bit interesting that there are no security guards rushing to grab for ‘Star or kick them both out, but he’s prepared if something does go awry. “I asked for his assistance and he was rude.” To ‘Star, that’s exactly how things went, but Ric should know better than that.

“Is this psycho with you?” The man looks up at Ric, trying to compose himself. He can’t be any older than twenty-five and he’s got an air about him that just oozes pompousness. Even so, he looks about as shaken up as anyone who just had an interdimensional warrior pull them over their desk would, and he has to loosen his tie because he suspects he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“I can assure you I have no psychosis of any sort.” ‘Star replies, even though he wasn’t being spoken to.

Rictor looks the intern over, narrowing his eyes and somehow managing to look far scarier without moving than ‘Star did when he was physically attacking the guy. “That’s a little excessive, isn’t it?” he ponders out loud. “The whole psycho thing, I mean. Definitely not PC.” He’s realizing all of a sudden how incredibly on edge he is here, in this hyper-modern orange snowglobe of a building with its uncountable, insidious basement levels. His pulse quickens, and he feels wired and ready for a fight, as though ‘Star’s decidedly militant reaction had somehow transferred to him too. They are, at the best of times, maybe a little bit psychic.

He steadies himself. If he’s to be the good cop to ‘Star’s bad one, so be it. He holds out a hand to help the man up, but once he has, he can’t help but twist the proverbial knife a little. Call it a bad habit, but he’s a warrior now, and something in him kind of likes scaring people.

“Please don’t speak to my partner like that again,” he says, dangerously smooth and deadly serious.

He lets go of the intern’s hand, and doesn’t see him thumb the button on the comm device on his belt until it’s too late.

And all those floors up where the members of X-Factor actually reside, Pietro is rolling his eyes. He’s not about to get suited up and go downstairs to throw out some idiots that decided to harass the guy at the front desk. He’s not sure why they have to be building security as well as superheroes. Maybe to make a statement or maybe it’s because with a superhero team guarding your headquarters, nothing bad should happen.

It’s kind of the exact opposite here.

He pulls on his black and yellow Serval hoodie and is down the 14 flights of steps before the comm device can blink for a third time. He would have just continued on that path, picking up the offenders and depositing them blocks away before they even had time to register what happened, but...

There is absolutely no way he’s actually seeing what -- er, _who_ \-- is standing in the lobby. It’s impossible.

“Rictor!?”

Rictor finds himself unable to choose between _fight_ and _flight_. Pretty high up on the list as well is _scream at Pietro in Spanish_ and also possibly _puke._

He ends up doing none of these things, if only because ‘Star noticed the expression on his face just in time and grabbed him by the shoulders to hold him back before he could do anything. He knows he’ll be grateful for that later, but right now, all he’s feeling is pissed off and very, very scared.

“Pietro,” he replies, dry-mouthed. He hates that. The first-name basis thing.

He very much wants to leave.

“Where did you--” Pietro finds himself speechless, which is a very rare occurrence. His brain is pacing through things he might be able to say at light speed, but nothing seems to fit the moment. “How did you get here?” The speedster glances up at Shatterstar who looks like he’s weighing his options, which happen to be either running Pietro through with a sword and asking questions later or taking Rictor out of here as fast as possible.

It just so happens that ‘Star is thinking along those exact lines, and is heavily leaning toward at least punching Pietro so hard he loses a few teeth. For the moment though, he’s still holding Ric by the shoulders.

Part of Pietro wants to spill his guts immediately, knowing the longer he waits to say anything or bring up the past the worse it’s going to be. But it’s been years already, maybe even lifetimes for Rictor himself since all of what happened between them. He’s still on shaky ground with Lorna, and they are siblings -- which indicates that the chances of someone like Rictor actually accepting an apology, not matter how genuine, is one and a million.  

“Teleported,” Ric answers through gritted teeth. He steels his nerves and shrugs out of ‘Star’s grip. “Listen, I don’t,” he pauses, swallowing whatever literal or figurative bile rises in his throat, and continues. “I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing here, _Quicksilver_. Honestly? I don’t think I want to know at all.” He crosses his arms tightly across his chest, if only to conceal how badly his hands are shaking. “I’m here -- _we’re_ here -- about X-Factor.”

“Why the hell would you--” Pietro stops himself, and he’s not sure if it’s because he doesn't want to sound like an idiot or if it’s because what he was about to say might actually hurt the other man’s feelings. He runs a uncharacteristically nervous hand through that silver hair before sighing. “If you’re here about the team then maybe you should talk to Lorna.” There is really no maybe about it.

“We can take the elevator up.”

The last thing Rictor wants right now is to be moving even further away from ground level, or to be led around an upper floor he only barely knows the layout of, or to be trapped in an elevator with Pietro fucking Maximoff. But this is a mission. The fate of the world -- quite literally -- could be at stake.

He falls into step behind ‘Star, and they follow Pietro to the elevator.

Ric does two things once the door closes. One, he shuffles closer to ‘Star; not so they’re touching, but so they could be, if he felt the need to. Two, subconsciously, he tugs at the collar of his sweater, and rubs his neck.

There is an awkward tension in the air until ‘Star breaks it.

“The lack of elevator music is truly disturbing.” He’s not trying to make small talk, he’s just really strangely disturbed by this.

Pietro normally would say something snarky but his gut is already tied in a knot and he doesn’t feel like having Rictor bring this whole building down around them. “This really isn’t an elevator music kind of place.” He’s not sure what that is supposed to mean, but at least it’s something to say instead of standing there and feeling like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. He really does feel like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin.

“So what kind of place even is this?” Rictor stares up at him, sharp and sudden and decidedly icy. The air inside the elevator, and indeed the rest of the building, is artificial and several fractions too hot to compensate for the weather outside. Ric sweats, and the wool of his turtleneck feels prickly against his wrists and neck where they’re not covered by the shirt he wears underneath. “There’s not much on your website, ‘sides an ugly yellow banner and some info about a pet hotel on the moon. What’s this all about, really?”

“I’m not here to be a corporate pawn.” Pietro says and then immediately regrets even saying that. “I’m here to look out for Lorna,” he clarifies, right after. “Serval just put the team together after Madrox went to go raise goats on a farm or something.” He says the last bit a little flippantly. Thankfully the elevator chimes and then the doors open right after, Pietro speeding out of it like his life depended on it.

He kind of feels like it does.

“A farm?” ‘Star has to ask as he follows Ric out.

“The X-Men haven’t heard from him in almost over a year.” Pietro says as he slides his key card through the door and it hisses open. “Apparently, everything kind of went belly up after you two vanished, and --” There is a lot more too it than that, but even he doesn’t know all of it. Havok hasn’t really been giving him regular updates after he quit spying on X-Factor for him.

Lorna Dane cuts an intimidating silhouette against the eighth-storey window.

She looks taller, somehow, in her Serval uniform, than she did in the green ensemble she wore with Investigations. She also looks a lot more severe, and not particularly happy to see them.

“Shatterstar,” she acknowledges, without smiling. “Rictor. I was wondering when you two would show up.”

“Is this your new team, Lorna?” If Lorna isn’t going to bother with formalities, then Ric sees no reason to either. “Not many familiar faces, ‘side from yours, and…” he glances over at Pietro, with a rather withering look, “... some I wish I wasn’t so familiar with.”

“Is there something you have a problem with?” She asks point blank, never really being someone to dance around the topic at hand.

“Yes and no.” ‘Star answers for him. “We came here to get some answers.” This should be an interesting conversation with how blunt they both are. “It seems we are stuck here with no way to go back and change the events that led to X-Factor’s demise. So, we are here to have you explain what this Serval Industries is.” He crosses his arms across his chest. 

Lorna merely snorts at that. “Really? You’ve been lost in time for a year and a half and you want _me_ to explain what’s going on? ‘Star, I know you don’t really get jokes, but that was a funny one.” 

“This is not a joke. I need to know that you are not part of--” He stops himself. “Lorna, out of respect for your former teammates, can we please have this conversation in private?” ‘Star all but glares at Pietro, who throws his hands up in response.

“Fine. I’m gone.” And then he vanishes.

Rictor visibly relaxes once he’s gone. He sighs, feeling his pulse even out and the hairs on the back of his neck stop standing up.

“Listen, uh…” he steps forward, uncrossing his arms to show that he’s trying to be reasonable. “I’m sorry about the, uh, _incident_ at the front desk. We’ve…” he pauses, worrying his lip and running a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain everything they’d just been through to someone who probably didn’t even know where they’d been sent in the first place. “... okay, I’ll try to tell you. But you might want to sit down.” He takes the initiative, making his way over to an uncomfortably modern-looking sofa on the side of the room. He sits down, tugging his sweater over his head. It’s still unpleasantly warm.

Lorna just looks at him before ‘Star puts a hand on her shoulder. “After you.” He motions to the couch and she sighs before sitting down next to Rictor. After Pietro left it’s like a bit of weight had been lifted from her shoulders as well. “I don’t care what you guys did at the front desk,” She says honestly, and ‘Star takes his seat on the couch next to her. “I’m surprised Shatterstar didn't actually throw anyone out a window. I was hoping if you did, it would be Pietro.” At the best of times it’s hard to read Lorna and ‘Star wonders for a moment if perhaps it is she that doesn’t understand how jokes work. “For what it’s worth. It’s good to see that you two are alive. Really.”

“Just barely at times, but we’ve managed.” ‘Star adds.

Lorna quirks an eyebrow. “So where were you?”

Rictor leans back against the couch, mentally preparing himself for the story that follows. “Mojoworld.”

“Really,” Lorna deadpans. “What were you doing there?” She glances at ‘Star, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in a smirk. “Meeting the family?”

“In a sense, yeah,” Ric confirms, with a humorless laugh. “Weird, sure, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He cringes immediately after he says it. He meant Pietro, but as soon as the words left his mouth, there’s a look on Lorna’s face that tells him all she’s thinking about is Alex. “Sorry,” he says quickly. It’s rare for him to admit to misstepping like that, but given what he now knows about Alex Summers, he really does mean that apology.

“Don’t be sorry. Alex and I aren’t together anymore.”

“That is good news,” ‘Star just has to say it, considering the last time he saw Alex Summers, he nearly ran him through with one of his swords.

Not that there’s any way Lorna could have known that, given that it happened twenty years in the future.

_Alex Summers_ , Rictor thinks. _Havok_. Funny name for someone who turns out to be such a control freak.

\--

In 2034, Alex Summers wears a military uniform and an eye-patch that nobody’s brave enough to laugh at anymore.

The joke is, of course, that despite his brother’s codename, it was Alex who ended up with only one eye. It’s a shame Scott Summers isn’t around to appreciate the irony.

The X-Factor HQ of the future is an appropriated army headquarters, full of cold and austere decorations and even colder and more austere inhabitants. Alex’s own office, however, is entirely empty save for himself, Rictor, and the hardwood desk that stands between them. Alex is sitting down and shuffling papers. Rictor is about to seismically blast him through the window.

“Where is he, Summers?” Rictor’s voice is shaking just as much as his hands are. He stands his ground, but he’s terrified, and closer to tears than he’d ever admit to, even after. His voice cracks when he begins to speak again. “I swear to god, if you don’t tell me, I’ll throw you through the wall. I’ll bring the whole goddamn building down around your head. I’ll --”

“You’ll sit down and shut the hell up,” Alex says, without even looking away from his papers.

“No,” Rictor says, far braver than he feels. “No, I won’t.” His head is throbbing, aching at the temples and stinging around the blood-matted hair at the back. Under his feet, the broken remains of a power inhibitor collar crunch against the worn carpet. He twists his boot and drives them in further, knowing Alex can hear it.

Alex sighs. “Julio,” he addresses, ignoring the snarl Rictor emits at the sound of his first name. “I’m not unreasonable, and I know you aren’t, either. You must see the benefits of what we’re doing here.”

_Reasonable_ is never a word Ric’s used to describe himself, especially not now. He flares up, waves of power rippling from his hands and up his arms with a menacing hum. “Benefits? Are you for real?” He takes a step closer. Alex doesn’t flinch, but the items on his desk begin to tremble, papers and pencils and a lamp caught in the force emanating from Ric’s hands. “All I see here is you - you fucking fascist - and your piece of shit eyepatch, and the space next to me where ‘Star should be standing.” He slams his hands down on the desk, sending everything on top flying across the room. “So where the hell are you keeping him?”

“Step back, you’re spitting.” Alex finally meets his eyes, brow creased in a frown.

Rictor briefly entertains the notion of spitting on him for real. After what Alex has done - to Rictor, to the mutants here, to the X-Factor name, and possibly to ‘Star - Ric wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty about doing it. Then --

“You’re not worth it,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, and steps back, if only so he’s not tempted to waste spit on him anyway. Or give up on interrogating him and just bring down the ceiling or send him out onto the street.

“Fine,” he says. “Tell me. Try to show me reason.” His tone is mocking, and it’s not just him putting on a brave face. “But don’t you ever call me by that name again.”

\--

"I'm not entirely sure what you're trying to tell me." Lorna looks between both Rictor and Shatterstar, slightly uncomfortable with both how concerned for her they look and how they mirror each other's expressions. It's like the air that 'Star had always had about him had transferred to Rictor; a tenseness coiled within him and a strange feeling that he's a little more alien than he was before. "You two are what? Trying to keep reality from completely uncoiling?"

She doesn't know whether to laugh at that or not be surprised at all.

"We've become guardians, in a sense." 'Star corrects. "Not only safeguarding our own place in the timestream, but that of others as well." He really didn’t want to tell Lorna all that much, but with how close they had come from being separated in time permanently...

He's not about to make the mistake of underestimating this future X-Factor again.

Rictor is on edge again. In his eyes, Lorna’s team is already well on its way to becoming the evil X-Factor of the future, even if Lorna doesn’t know it yet. He knows he’s being overly suspicious, but she’s still too close to Alex for his liking, separated or not, and regardless of where he knows she’ll end up in the next twenty years. Pietro’s presence on the team is just the proverbial icing on the cake.

They’ve already told her too much.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her again, though he can’t tell her why. “I don’t expect you to believe us when we can’t even tell you when this happens, or why, or what we’re gonna do about it. But you know how this stuff works. You’re old hat, y’know?”

Lorna nods. “Sure,” she says, not sounding very convinced, but knowing she’s not going to be able to press them for more information. “So what did you come here for, really?”

Rictor leans forward on the couch, looking past Lorna to make eye contact with ‘Star. They share a meaningful glance, and then Rictor sits back, ready to continue.

“Two things,” he says, still feeling uneasy but more grateful for Lorna’s to-the-point attitude than he’s ever been before. “One: we need to know where Jamie is. Figured you’d know, since apparently you bought the team name off him.”

“And the second?”

Ric stands, walking over to the window on the far side of the room and staring down through the glass. It’s plate, but he still feels his stomach flip uncomfortably when he sees how far below him the ground is. It occurs to him that he might be a little bit afraid of heights.

He turns around again, resisting the urge to continue his nervous pacing.

“Is there anyone here by the name of Harrison Snow?”

\--

"Oh my god! Rictor, what the hell are you doing!?" It's Layla's voice that echoes in the living room of the farm house, 'Star's hand gently on her arm preventing her from interrupting the scene playing out in front of them.

Jamie's nose is bloody and the first thing on his mind is not necessarily why Ric just punched him, but that he doesn't remember that he could punch _that_ hard. Hard enough to at least bloody his nose and create a dupe at the same time.

"It's nice to see you guys too." He cracks sarcastically as he wipes his nose.

Rictor is practically fuming. “Man, are you _serious_?”

“Rarely,” Jamie says, attempting a smile that turns out to be more of a pained grimace. The dupe behind him pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to him. Jamie didn’t even know he was carrying one.

Rictor glares daggers at him. “Serval Industries? You sold the team name to Serval freakin’ Industries and Harrison possibly-evil-in-the-future goddamn Snow, and you didn’t even ask us about it?” Never mind that Jamie probably didn’t even know they were back until Ric showed up at his house and almost broke his nose in greeting. Ric knows he’s being unreasonable, and Jamie knows him well enough to be used to it. The safest thing to do in this situation would be to just sit down and wait for Rictor to finish his tirade, and ask him about the finer details later.

But since when has Jamie ever played anything safe?

"Ask you about it?" Jamie's says incredulously. "And how exactly was I supposed to do that? I thought you and 'Star were dead until--" He stops himself. Explaining that would probably just piss Rictor off even more. "You know, the least you could have done was ask me how I was doing, considering the last time you saw me I was a _demon_." He's evading the question because he's just so good at it. _Oh,_ and also, the answer to that question probably isn't going to make Ric any happier.

"How was Mojoworld?" The dupe asks out of nowhere and if Jamie didn't have a broken nose right now he would face palm.

_God dammit._

“You’re not a demon anymore,” Ric points out, unable to resist snarking back one more time, even though he’s aware that the argument is over. He sighs heavily, blowing at a strand of hair to push it away from his face. “You’re still a total asshole, though.”

Jamie snorts, and regrets it immediately. He sends the dupe to the kitchen to get ice, and presses his sleeve to his nose in the meantime. “Give this a day or two to heal, and I might eventually be happy to see that you’re both alive.”

Rictor rolls his eyes. “Mojoworld was good,” he says, even though it wasn’t. “Kinda hot, though, and… y’know, evil. Not exactly a nice spot for a honeymoon.”

"Honeymoon?" Layla asks, voice muffled. "Are you two, like, married or something now?" It's completely a joke and Jamie is even trying to stifle a laugh. Not because it's rude to laugh at something like that, but because it hurts to move his face.

"Julio." 'Star finally comments. "Would you like to do the honors?"

"Oh my god, you didn't." Layla puts her hand over her mouth.

“Uh,” Ric clears his throat, distinctly aware of the heat rising in his ears and the smile creeping across his lips. “Actually, yeah. We did.”

Several things happen in the seconds following. ‘Star beams at him. Layla’s eyebrows almost reach her hairline. Jamie emits an awkward bark of a laugh.

Jamie’s dupe, recently returned from the kitchen, steps forward and punches Rictor square in the jaw.

He doesn’t hit as hard as he used to, nor even remotely as hard as Rictor does now, but it still stings like hell. “Hey! What the hell was that about?”

The dupe crosses his arms, pouting. “I cannot believe you got married without inviting us.” He scoffs. “You practically eloped. _Scandalous._ ”

Rictor finds himself struggling to resist the urge to punch him right back.

"We didn't invite anyone." 'Star crosses his arms. "It seems everyone thought we were dead, anyhow." Before it actually happened 'Star had sometimes thought about what it would be like to actually have the sort of wedding he'd seen in movies or on TV, but he sort of also likes the wedding they did have. A true shotgun wedding. Or at least that's what the man at the chapel had said. He’s still not sure what firearms have to do with anything because there were certainly none of those. Just one very drunk Rictor and perhaps the gaudiest wedding chapel on the whole Vegas Strip.

"Don't mind this guy," Ric says, gesturing at the dupe. "I think he's just jealous."

\--

'Star doesn't seem to hold the same contempt for bright lights and loud music and crowds as he used to, which is lucky, because Vegas has a whole lot of all of the above.

They've taken a night off to unwind after a run-in with a band of teleporting mercenaries. 'Star thinks they were gene-altered soldiers sent by Mojo. Ric suspects they might have come from Future Earth.

Not that it matters, anymore. One of them had apparently thought it would be a good tactic to corner Ric and 'Star just outside the Hoover Dam.

Next to a _pretty_ prominent fault line.

Ric wonders if they were even trying.

So Vegas is, at least, close enough to seem like a good idea at the time. They book a motel room - nowhere nice, but infinitely better than sleeping in the dirt on Mojoworld or in the back of their truck on Earth like they had been recently. Then they shower, change, and head out towards the lights.

“It seems smaller since the last time we were here.” ‘Star comments as they walk, stopping outside one of the bigger casinos to admire the fountain lit up with neon lights for a moment. Maybe it is smaller, or at least smaller compared to, well, everywhere else. This is one small city on one small planet that seems unimportant, but to ‘Star, it means everything. “That is impossible I know, but...” He’s not even sure how to finish his sentence or if Ric will even understand, but he suspects he might. The Bellagio is crowded but it’s sort of the perfect place to blend in with a crowd rather than stand out in one.

"No, dude, I think I get what you mean." They've spent the past hour or so debating the finer points of such pressing issues as _why is Scott Summers codenamed Cyclops instead of Gorgon or perhaps Cockatrice_ and _what actually happened to DW's snowball in that one episode of Arthur_ and _what would happen if you put a werewolf on the moon._ It started as a way to pass time in the car, and continued while they showered in the motel ("I know you were lying to me about the elevator music," 'Star tells him, gazing up at him sternly from his position on his knees on the tiled floor), and Ric's just waiting for them to get into an argument over Spongebob or something in the middle of the casino.

Point being: he welcomes the change in topic, as well as the distraction.

He follows a worryingly enthusiastic 'Star over to the Blackjack table, mentally farewelling whatever meagre savings they have before he even starts.

"I think I still remember how to count cards like Jamie taught me." 'Star says as they walk towards the table and it's painfully obvious that if they are going to be around so many people, they are going to have to start working on 'Star's indoor voice again.

Especially when talking about cheating the casino out of their money right in the middle of the floor.

'Star has his sights set on playing cards and he takes two glasses of champagne when a rather well endowed cocktail waitress offers them shortly after sitting down. He distantly remembers the last time he was here with X-Factor and how at one of the other casinos, he took more than just a drink from a cocktail waitress that had been covered in silver sequins. It's a fond memory but that all seems so far away now.

"Here." He offers the glass to Rictor as he turns to look at him, wondering how Julio might look in silver sequins. It’s an interesting thought and one that turns over in his mind more times than maybe it should.

Rictor accepts the glass, feeling inexplicable goosebumps form on his arms and a similarly confusing shiver work its way down his spine. "Ugh," he mumbles. "Feels like somebody just walked over my grave." He's explained this metaphor to 'Star already.

He downs the entire glass at once, and the feeling begins to subside.

"Okay," he says, motioning for 'Star's attention, then switching to Cadre. "First off, if you're going to do this, you can't go shouting about it in the middle of the casino. ‘Least not in English."

"I wasn't planning on cheating." 'Star says back, still in Cadre. "At least not until I begin to lose." There might be something to say about how impressionable 'Star is sometimes, considering it seems all he knows about gambling is what he learned from watching Madrox and some movies ( _Ocean's 11,_ primarily) Neither of which are exactly good influences. He takes a sip from his glass a bit more gingerly, conserving it. "And I believe having you here is a good luck charm." He smiles at Ric.

"Sir. Sir?" The dealer calls trying to get 'Star's attention. "Do you want to be dealt in?"

"Most certainly."

The man shakes his head before dealing all the cards. 'Star watches him like a hawk as he does, grin getting wider by the minute.

_A good luck charm, huh?_ “Me?” Ric asks, with a playfully oblivious shrug. “Nah. Longshot or Domino, maybe. We should’ve looked them up.” They’re not supposed to be contacting anyone on Earth - nobody can know that they’re back yet  - but he lets himself imagine it for a minute. “Hell, if we’d asked both of them, we could win the whole casino.” He snatches another glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing waiter, and turns back to explain to ‘Star that no, he did not literally mean the entire casino. “So what are you gonna do, put your arm around me at the table and get me to blow on the dice for good luck?” He snorts. In his jeans and scuffed combat boots and grimy tuxedo t-shirt, he’s hardly the glamorous arm-candy a gambler in this sort of place would want to stick with. Even thinking that phrase makes him cringe a bit.

"Do not be silly, Rictor." 'Star is still eyeing the cards and he's downed his glass of champagne. "Perhaps if you were wearing one of the gold dresses the waitresses here wear, I’d consider it." It's one of those times when you can't really tell if 'Star is serious or not, but in this case, he is.

Normally he'd be distracted for a moment by his own thought but 'Star isn't paying attention to anything but the cards, and certainly not the people next to him who overheard that comment and are now staring.

Rictor ignores them in favor of moving to stand at 'Star's side anyway, casually slipping a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. "Nah," he comments, entirely straight-faced. "I haven't got the legs for it." Second glass down. "It's your turn, by the way."

"Stay." 'Star loudly proclaims as the dealer goes round once more and he picks up his cards to glance at them again. Two people are already gone from the game and the two that remain aside from him as studying him as if he's got something to hide. Or maybe they are just staring at Ric. The dealer presents another card which gives him a total of fifteen and 'Star has an ace and a nine which already beats the dealer with twenty, but what's life without a little risk.

That's what their life basically is now. One giant risk. It just so happens that 'Star has always thrived in that sort of environment.

The dealer comes back once more and 'Star risks taking another card. It's an ace of hearts and that makes twenty one.

"Blackjack." When he says it, he's smug.

“Oooh.” Ric tries to act as surprised as possible, feigning an ecstatic expression and looping his arms around ‘Star’s shoulders, pulling him close to kiss his cheek. Before he moves away, he lowers his voice to a whisper and switches to Cadre.

“Remember to lose a couple of games every now and then,” he warns, tone deadly serious. “People will get suspicious if you don’t.”

Then he pulls away like nothing happened, grins again, and slaps ‘Star lightly on the ass. “Good luck,” he winks, and leaves the table in search of more drinks.

'Star furrows his eyebrows for a moment and his expression switches between being flustered and then back to as serious as can be about the game at hand.

He can lose. He doesn't _like_ to lose, but he can do it.

He watches Ric saunter away out of the corner of his eye before the next game starts and another glass of champagne is foisted upon him. Pink this time. They are certainly liberal with their spirits here. 'Star had almost forgotten.

By the time Rictor gets back to the table, roughly twenty minutes have passed, and Ric is decidedly tipsy. Blame it on the fact that the bar was selling two-for-one tequila shots (which he did, on his own, one after the other. Twice. It’s a talent), or the fact that he just knew that when he got back ‘Star would’ve ignored his advice. He’s also entertaining some distinctively impure thoughts in relation to ‘Star’s earlier comment about the dress, and if there’s one thing he can’t handle while sober, it’s that.

The night is already shaping up to be something special.

He returns to ‘Star’s side, elbowing his way through a gaggle of onlookers to get there. Somebody spills a drink on his shirt, but he shrugs it off. It’s seen worse during the past week.

“How’s it hanging?” he inquires, snickering a little at his own choice of words. He probably hasn’t said that since the nineties, but he’ll find a way to bring it back. He believes in himself.

"Quite well!" 'Star is enthusiastic and he understands the turn of phrase precisely because Ric used to use it so much. He puts a handful of hundred-dollar chips in his hand, the total probably somewhere around twelve hundred dollars in cash. "My fellow players however do not seem to be as entertained. Perhaps they just lack the skills to be worthy of winning such a game."

It may be time to go play something else by the looks of everyone around 'Star.

“Uh,” Ric interrupts, trying to downplay ‘Star’s comment with a laugh. God, he hates having to be the adult. “No, dude, I’m sure they’re all… skilled. Very skilled. Right, guys?” He glances around the table. A middle-aged woman flips him the bird, and a younger man on the other side of the table locks eyes with him and mouths a very creative death threat.

“Time to leave,” he decides, slipping an arm around ‘Star’s waist and hurriedly ushering him away from the table.

"Julio--I was winning. Why are we leaving?" 'Star does have a hunch but whatever alcohol has made it into his system is telling him why quit while he's ahead. "And I left my drink..." He doesn't do it much, especially now, but when 'Star pouts he certainly has that puppy dog thing going on.

“‘Cause it’s time to win at something else,” Ric informs him, ever the optimist. He glances over his shoulder, accidentally making eye contact with the threat-making man from the blackjack table again. He looks away quickly, ducking his head down and steering ‘Star into an adjacent room. “And that guy over there with the purple bowtie was threatening to…” It’s crowded, so he leans in and whispers the rest of the sentence into ‘Star’s ear. ‘Star frowns, opening his mouth to deliver what Ric is certain will be an offer to fight the guy for daring to threaten him, and Ric rushes to change the subject before it happens. “And I’m sorry about your drink, dude. I’ll buy you another one. Several other ones.” And then maybe they’ll both be drunk enough for Ric to feel comfortable explaining what he thinks they should do next.

"I would like more pink champagne." 'Star says matter-of-factly, looping his arm in Ric's. "And perhaps I can watch you play a game as well." There is easily 800 dollars worth of chips stuffed in 'Star's pocket alone and he really would like to see if Ric can double or even triple the winnings.

'Star is being a little reckless but it's mostly because he's comfortable. Caught up in a crowd, they don't have to worry about running or what the next moment is going to bring. He's happy to be here with Rictor who, despite everything, looks like he's enjoying himself as well.

“Oookay.” Ric’s not sure what he expected. “I’m gonna let you get that yourself.” He reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet, handing it to ‘Star. He likes to think he’s become more confident in his own masculinity lately, but pink champagne crosses the fucking line. “Here. Meet me over at the roulette table when you’re done.”

One game and then he’ll move on. Two, tops. He’s sure he’s not too drunk to maintain the kind of fine-tuned control over his powers he’s going to need for this.

Rictor should know that sending 'Star alone on a task in the middle of all these people isn't exactly the best idea, but alcohol and good judgement calls don't exactly mix. The taller man does as he's told though, heading to the bar without even a second look back.

"He with you?" A voice asks from beside him, another cocktail waitress with curly blond hair and well--those gold dresses sure are popular around here. She also has a tray of martinis. If 'Star were still here he'd most likely proclaim the nature of he and Ric's relationship very specifically to her, but as it is, Ric's got the opportunity to be a little more tactful about it.

Or he might have, had he not slammed back four tequila shots within five minutes just earlier. “Yep,” he tells the waitress. _Eloquent._ He snags a martini from the tray ( _that’s manly, right? That’s some serious James Bond shit, right there_ ) and takes a sip, surreptitiously attempting to study the cut of that gold dress without looking like a creep. He takes back what he said earlier. He thinks he might have the legs for it after all.

"Nice." She says simply with a little bit of a smirk on her face. "Should have assumed the two most attractive men in the room were involved with one another." It's unclear if she's really giving a compliment or if she's flirting for tips. It's not really important because after winking at Ric she's gone, lost in the crowd.

Weird.

Ric shrugs it off -- it’s pretty crowded in here, and he’s more than a bit distracted - and turns his attention to the roulette table. There’s a small crowd there already, and after a moment’s deliberation, Ric decides to intervene. He tells himself it’s a relatively safe opportunity to test this particular application of his powers, but really, he’s just impatient.

He squeezes in through the crowd of onlookers (keeping his elbows to himself this time), glances around to check nobody’s watching, then rests his hand on the edge of the table and begins to focus.

It works. He sends out just the tiniest wave, nudging the ball into an unfavoured section of the wheel just as it stops. The group around him respond with a collective disappointed groan, which he quickly joins in with, so as to not seem out of place. As they begin to disperse, he steps forward, and makes a wager of his own.

_What a dirty trick, Rictor._

That waitress is staring from across the room, not that he'd be able to see, so focused on the game as he is.

'Star finally makes his way to the roulette table after drinking several glasses of champagne in one go simply because the bartender told him he wouldn't be able to keep that kind of pace up. "Have you won anything yet?" It's 'Star's turn to get grabby, putting his hand right on Ric's ass and squeezing. It's one of those times where it's impossible to distinguish if he's just being his normal, forward self or if the alcohol is the culprit.

He does this at the worst possible moment. Ric, who was a millisecond away from focusing another wave of energy at the roulette wheel, jumps when ‘Star touches him and lets out a terribly unmanly squeak. He also loses concentration.

Beneath their feet, the floor shakes very slightly.

Rictor freezes, looking over at ‘Star with obvious panic in his eyes. “Um.”

'Star's hand moves from Ric's ass to the small of his back. "Did I interrupt your focus?" It really goes without saying but he asks anyway. And is his speech slightly slurred? How much champagne did he have?

Too much. 'Star can't ever back down from a challenge. Especially if it's ill advisable.

But they’re being stared at again, and it’s not because ‘Star is drunk.

“Okay, gotta go!” Ric farewells the people at the table with a jaunty wave, playing at being much more drunk than he actually is. As he pulls ‘Star away back towards the bar, he hisses, “Somebody saw me do that. This girl I spoke to before - the waitress - she was looking right at me, as though she _knew_.” He looks over his shoulder, and his eyes widen. “She’s still looking,” he whispers, turning on his heel and changing their course. There are stairs on their left leading up to the second floor, but he passes them and steps into the elevator instead, keeping ‘Star close behind him.

"Julio!" 'Star finally says once they are in the elevator, the eerie silence still following them. "A waitress scared you?" He's not exactly sure if he believes that. In fact, he doesn't. "If we've been found out, we can simply leave." It's true enough even if 'Star wasn't quite ready to go and he did want to see Ric win a game or two. "Tonight is about having a good time." The taller man steps forward to take Ric's face in his hands, feeling how flush his cheeks are. "I apologize if I ruined that." It's been so long since they have tried to relax 'Star wonders if perhaps he's bad at being around a lot of people again. Like he was when he first got to earth.

Ric had almost forgotten how ‘Star gets when he’s been drinking. His concept of personal space is somewhat shaky at the best of times, but alcohol makes him worse. At the moment, he seems only seconds away from being all over him, and Ric can’t say he really minds.

“Hey, no,” he soothes, letting ‘Star cradle his face and tilt his head upward. “It wasn’t your fault. Nobody would’ve noticed if it weren’t for…” he trails off, thinking of the blonde waitress. The intent way she had stared at him, and how quickly the smile had left her lips when she did.

He pushes it to the back of his mind. He’s probably just imagining things, anyway. “I don’t want to go home just yet,” he says softly. The corners of his mouth tilt upwards in a smile; a tiny, secret thing that nobody further away than ‘Star could have seen, if there had been anyone there to see it at all. He turns his head and presses a kiss to ‘Star’s palm. “And nothing’s ruined. We just need to wait it out at the bar for a while.”

"And you are alright, yes?" 'Star has to ask, just for his own piece of mind. A smile blossoms on his own lips when he feels the kiss, and he curls his hand so his knuckles brush against Ric's cheek rather tenderly. It's easy to be paranoid due to where they had just come from, but 'Star is of the frame of mind that those people that were following them through the timestream would want to cause a much bigger scene and wouldn't be sneaking around in the shadows. "Perhaps we can have drinks somewhere quiet. There is some place like that here, right?"

'Star still doesn't fully grasp exactly what kind of city they are in. Decadence oozes out of every pore of Las Vegas, and if you want quiet you're going to have to pay for it. It's much easier to find cheap, loud and dirty.

To his credit, Ric doesn’t just refute this statement immediately. “We can look around for a place like that,” he says diplomatically. “We’ve got time.” He’s tipsy enough that trekking across the Strip in search of a (most likely mythical) quiet bar seems like a wise decision. Ric can already see ‘Star’s healing factor at work - he seems a fraction more sober every minute - and he wonders if they can find someplace to drink before it wears off completely. He has a vague desire to challenge ‘Star to match him shot-for-shot, but it won’t work if ‘Star is sober again by the time they start. That’s an unfair advantage.

He hits the button for the first floor, and the elevator makes its way back down. The doors slide open, and he links arms with ‘Star and saunters out, and though he looks, he doesn’t see the blonde waitress anywhere.

After cashing all their chips it seems 'Star did even better than he thought. Twelve thousand and it might have only been because the table that he just managed to sit at had no limit. And the black and gold chips he was so fond of were thousand dollar chips. It's not as if 'Star knew any better; he was just playing to have a good time. Or beat everyone else. It's one and the same really.

About twenty minutes later they have found themselves at the quietest place on the strip this time of night, which happens to be a higher end strip club that was advertising half price piña coladas (so how 'high end' is it really?).

'Star takes up residence in the corner, happy to finally have another drink and Rictor's company. Well -- whenever he gets back from wherever he went.

When Ric returns, he doesn’t specify where he’s been, although he is precariously carrying six of the aforementioned piña coladas and giggling slightly. He sets the drinks down on the table, sits next to ‘Star, and divides the glasses between them.

“It’s a start,” he shrugs, and raises one of the glasses in a joking toast.

"The small umbrellas are a nice touch." 'Star motions to a pink one sitting on the pineapple slice in the drink he picks up, motioning for a toast as well. "To..." He hesitates for a moment. "To you, Julio. And all the joy you've brought to my life." 'Star smiles wide, gulping down the frozen drink.

His healing factor hasn't soaked up all that alcohol yet.

Rictor can’t stop himself from blushing. “Yeah, uh…” he smiles, embarrassed but sincere, and downs his drink all at once. He cringes, trying to fight off the ensuing brain freeze, and leans over to kiss ‘Star on the cheek. “You too, man. Here’s to…” he pauses, trying to find the right words, and realising that there might not be any. “To everything.” Which isn’t wrong, but it doesn’t cover what he wanted to say. He resolves to bring it up later, when he can think straight, and when they’re not surrounded by loud music and strippers.

Totally romantic.

Deciding the cheek kiss wasn’t enough, he pulls ‘Star in for a proper one. It’s deep and slightly messy, and Ric almost falls off his chair because he’s leaning so far forward. He pulls back, laughs, and starts on his second drink. Under the table, he’s slid his knee between ‘Star’s and is pseudo-casually touching ‘Star’s calf with his foot.

'Star groans a little more loudly than he should in public but that's not entirely his fault. It's Rictor's. "First the kiss," He licks his lips. "And then--" 'Star moves his foot up the side of Ric's leg in a far less casual way. "Are you trying to seduce me in public, Julio?" He's feeling delightfully buzzed as he reaches for another drink.

At least there are not many people around to stare at them. Or at least they really don't care since there are strippers and this is Vegas and romantic moments usually don't happen in secluded corners here.

Rictor smirks. “Is it working?” he asks, already knowing the answer. “‘Cause, y’know, if it isn’t, I might have to step it up a little.” He finishes the second drink and sets the glass down on the table. Then he stands up, with slightly less grace than he would have displayed had he not been drinking, steps over to where ‘Star is sitting, squeezes in between the table and ‘Star and sits himself down on ‘Star’s lap, facing him. It’s warm there, and very comfortable, and Ric wonders why he doesn’t do this more often. He and multiple shots of tequila apparently make an excellent team.

He briefly entertains the idea of making up a booze-related superhero codename, and decides against it, mostly because he can’t come up with anything cool enough.

"Is this you stepping it up?" 'Star asks, running his hands down Ric's sides, realizing just how tight that tee-shirt is in ways he never thought about before. He wants it off, and his fingers move down to play with the edge of the fabric, grazing skin. 'Star realizes as soon as Ric shifts against him that his pants are a little bit tighter and that slightly numb sensation from drinking has spread almost everywhere. He hadn't been trying to keep up with Ric drink wise, it just happened. "I bet you'd look amazing splayed out on the table here," He presses his lips against Ric's neck, kissing up until he reaches his ear. "Begging me to fuck you in front of all these people."

Ric gasps when ‘Star’s lips make contact with his neck. His eyelids flutter closed, and he reacts on instinct, arching his back and rolling his hips down to rub against the obvious hardness in ‘Star’s pants. He moves easily, like all of it is second-nature, like he was born to move like water and draw sounds from ‘Star that never should’ve been heard outside of the bedroom.

“I’d let you,” he says, and he means it. ‘Star’s fingertips are hot against his skin, just skirting under the hem of his t-shirt, and he wants more. He catches ‘Star by the wrist and guides his hand up his shirt, showing him exactly where to touch. His jeans were tight to begin with, but now they’re almost unbearable. Struck with what seems like a brilliant idea at the time, he takes ‘Star’s other hand and places it firmly on the tent of his jeans. “But I think we’d get thrown out. This, though…” he moans softly as ‘Star touches him, illustrating his point. He sets a slow, teasing rhythm with his hips, almost matching the pulse of the music in the background, and his breath catches in his throat. “It’s dark. If nobody’s looking, we could --”

It's not often that 'Star gets to see Ric throw caution to the wind. It's not often that he does either, but the heady mix of alcohol and pent up sexual tension proves even too much for 'Star to handle. He grabs Ric through his jeans, feeling his hardness and suddenly wanting more. "I don't care if we get thrown out." It's said rather breathlessly, 'Star squeezing Ric's clothed cock again before quickly tugging his shirt off, mouth automatically going to a nipple.

The taste of salt against his tongue makes 'Star moan, fingers tightening against bare skin to bring Ric closer to him if at all possible. His teeth graze skin before he licks over the nipple gently, unable to help himself. They may be in their own metaphorical bubble but something like this certainly won't go unnoticed for long.

“I do,” Ric bites his lip in an attempt to hold back both a grin and the moan that rises in his throat when ‘Star tastes him. “But only if they throw us out before I get off.” He snickers, chest shaking as he laughs, and then ‘Star’s lips are on him again and he’s speechless. He surges closer, threading his fingers through ‘Star’s hair and holding on tight. The air inside is cool against his suddenly-bare chest, and it chills the wetness left in the wake of ‘Star’s tongue. Everything from the waist down, though, is burning up. He’s not sure what he craves more, skin-on-skin contact or just to be free of his jeans, naked and undone in ‘Star’s lap while ‘Star remains clothed and (relatively) dignified. He knows, at least, that he wants _something_ , and whatever it is, he wants it desperately.

'Star would be happy to rid Ric of his jeans, happy to lick and suck his skin and push him below the table so he could wrap those red lips around his cock. He would be happy to do all of that if there wasn't a man -- or, rather, three men -- standing behind them.

"Julio." 'Star says, deadly serious in his tone. "There are men staring at us and they are not attractive enough to participate."

Always blunt and to the point.

"You gonna leave or do we have to escort you two out?"

"I am quite comfortable and not ready to leave." 'Star says rather matter of factly.

Rictor freezes, a mortified blush creeping up from his neck to his ears. Sneaking a glance behind him, he notes that all three men wear matching security uniforms and matching expressions of intense disapproval. If this were a fight, either of them would have been more than a match for all three, but even Ric isn’t drunk enough to think that picking a fight with Vegas bouncers is an advisable decision, even if they’d probably win it.

He turns back slowly, lips pursed and eyes comically wide, and brings his lips to ‘Star’s ear.

“In five seconds I am going to stand up, and grab my shirt.” He’s switched to Cadre, and his words are low and carefully even, as though their being discovered has shocked him into relative sobriety. “And then we’re going to turn around and run the fuck out of here.” He hopes to god that ‘Star will listen for once instead of staying around to prove his worth as a warrior or some shit like that. “Five. Four. Three --”

He hears one of the men behind him clear his throat.

“-- fuck it,” he curses, and jumps up, and runs.

“Julio!” ‘Star calls after him but instead of sticking around, he’s right behind Ric, grabbing the last full drink on the table and taking it with him. Rictor paid for them and he’s not losing another drink tonight. When he gets close enough to the door he pushes over a table, mostly so they have a bit more time get away once they are outside.

“Where are we going!?” He manages to yell to Ric once they are a ways down the sidewalk, frozen coconut drink dripping down his sleeve because it was a poor choice to try and bring it along. ‘Star is still buzzed which is the only reason he didn't stick around to defend both his honor and Rictor’s. Running was the more cowardly way out, but he’s certainly not one to argue with Ric’s decision to do so. At least not right now.

They are drawing stares from all sorts of tourists. It seems to be a theme of the night.

They turn a corner, stepping into an alley (or the Strip equivalent of an alley, which is more of a gap between two buildings, mostly full of trash) and finally moving out of sight. Rictor leans against the wall, out of breath and laughing so hard he almost has to double over. Eventually he sinks to a crouch, kind of scraping his back on the bricks behind him but not really caring, and sitting there among the trash cans, clutching his shirt and shaking with laughter.

“God,” he wheezes, covering his face with his shirt while he tries to compose himself enough to complete a sentence. “God, I am so sorry.” He stops and then starts laughing all over again, feeling the buzz from before return tenfold after that brief moment of shock. “That was --” he wipes his eyes with the shirt before tugging it back over his head, struggling a little with finding the right sleeves. “That was a trip.”

‘Star takes a moment to look Rictor over before taking a rather large drink of that half spilled piña colada and crouching to Ric’s level. “You’re happy.” It’s not really a question, just an observation and ‘Star starts to smile, half from the alcohol but mostly because Rictor does seem so happy. Even in the face of what just happened.

“Julio.” ‘Star sets that drink glass down, locking eyes with his lover. “Let’s get married.” It’s sudden, but in all reality is there really a better time and place as this?  “You are my partner and my lover and my whole world. Do me the honor and let us make it official on earth.”

For a few seconds, all Rictor does is stare blankly at him. His first thought is that ‘Star is joking -- he does that, on occasion, and it’s almost always about things as weird and as un-jokeably fucking serious as this. He’s always straight-faced and deadpan when he does it, too, which makes it impossible to tell. Ric usually takes him seriously and gets burned by it; he’ll flip out about it and only then will ‘Star laugh and reveal that he wasn’t even serious to begin with. It’s terrible, and he suspects he deserves it for all the times he’s deliberately misinformed ‘Star about Earth things for the purpose of tripping him up and laughing about it later.

Thinking about that kind of makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. _Huh._ Maybe there’s something to this after all.

Maybe it’s worth the risk of getting laughed at. Maybe ‘Star’s _my whole world_ analogy works both ways.

Maybe ‘Star is right, and he is happy.

He stops gaping, and pushes his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, pulling the hem down around his waist. “Yeah,” he says, with a shrug that belies the indescribable soaring feeling in his chest. “Okay.”

'Star frowns a little at Ric's reaction, mostly because what he knows of proposals comes from movies and isn’t Rictor supposed to crying? Or at least hugging him?

“Did I do it wrong? Did I propose to you incorrectly?” He’s deadly serious and that frown on his face is still in place. One thing he’d never joke about is how he feels about Ric, mostly because of all of the miscommunication that had plagued their relationship previously. It seems, however, that all the time spent away from their friends and peers had brought them closer together than ever. He can’t think of his life without Rictor now. Not that he really could before, but now just the thought cuts right through his remaining buzz and makes his gut twist.

Ric's expression softens, eyebrows pulling together in the middle and lips parting slightly. He's caught somewhere between concern and adoration, heartbroken to see 'Star look so worried but unable to keep from smiling in the face of what can only be described as _puppydog eyes._

"Hey, no," he says, with a voice as gentle and as honest as his expression. He reaches out and 'Star helps him up, catching him when he stumbles slightly. 'Star is sort of sticky, and smells noticeably of coconut. "You did great. Perfect." He loops his arms around 'Star's shoulders, feeling as though if he doesn't hold onto something, he may well just start floating away.

“But you aren’t crying. Are you supposed to be crying?” Maybe there is something more to this whole proposal thing than ‘Star really bargained for or perhaps if they were not going to have a grand wedding than the crying at the proposal isn't really necessary. This is all very confusing honesty. His asking was spur of the moment and there just so happens to be a wedding chapel across the way. ‘Star remembers Jamie saying they were a ‘dime a dozen’ here but he really can’t remember what that particular turn of phrase was really supposed to mean. Even if he’s still pouting a little bit, Ric is warm against him and it feels so nice. He slips his hands under his shirt, holding him close. “These Earth customs are more confusing than I first thought.”

‘Star is more human than he’s ever been, but Shatterstar is still Shatterstar no matter what time or place they find themselves in.

Ric lets out a slightly undignified snort of laughter, then hides his face against 'Star's chest, embarrassed about it. "Do you _want_ me to be crying?" he asks, worrying a little that if he doesn't keep the mood light, maybe he will. If he thinks back, he’s not sure he can remember ever crying in front of ‘Star before. Now is probably not the time to start.

He finds himself thinking about before. About X-Force, and introductions, and all the time they spent circling around each other, each waiting for the other to make a move. He can trace the roots of ‘Star’s burgeoning humanity to the TV shows they used to watch together, hours upon hours of _Days of Our Lives_ and _Love Connection_ and all these romantic things Ric used to turn his nose up at until he met ‘Star. They did this thing where they’d start out sitting on opposite ends of the couch and, throughout the course of whatever they were watching, inch nearer to each other until they were close enough to feel each other’s body heat. They never even touched until Ric fell asleep on ‘Star’s shoulder one night. He’s pretty sure he may have drooled, but the night after, ‘Star took the initiative and pulled him closer.

Call it a drunken epiphany, but he’s just realized that _he_ had a lot more to do with ‘Star’s becoming human than anything else did.

Maybe that's why it's so important to 'Star that they be as open as possible about everything. He wants to make sure that he's not missing things, not taking emotional cues when he should be. When he came back, even though it was rough between them for awhile, he told Ric that he would make up for lost time. This time away together has been the purest expression of that. He just hopes that it's been enough.

"No. I suppose I don't want you to cry." 'Star rubs his hands soothingly across Ric's back. "I just want you to know that I love you." He's got no doubt really that he does, but sometimes he just has to hear things out loud.

Rictor looks up, locking eyes with ‘Star. ‘Star towers over him, of course, just as he always has. Ric remembers, with an odd amount of clarity, how long it took him to admit (even to himself) how much he likes that. It seems so far removed from them now, from the pride in ‘Star’s voice whenever he talks about him, or the way Ric doesn’t hesitate to stand up to anyone who looks at them the wrong way. They are light years ahead of where they started out, literally as well as figuratively. Somewhere along the line, they moved from almost-touching in front of the television to following each other to the ends of the earth and then further. To falling in love. To getting thrown out of a strip club for public indecency.

To getting hitched in Vegas.

He figures maybe leaving Earth was their turning point. Being adrift in time and constantly on the run from homicidal space-mercenaries sure has a way of putting things in perspective.

“I know, dude,” Ric tells him, kissing a smile onto his lips. “I’ve always known. And -- me too, y’know? _Te amo_.” He repeats it in English, and then in Cadre, and then adds, “Always. I’m just sorry it took me so long to own up to it.”

'Sta smiles like as long as Ric knows now, whatever has happened in the past doesn't matter.

"Then let's get married."

\--

"Are you two serious?" Madrox Prime has given up pressing that ice pack to his damaged nose in favor of gaping at both Ric and 'Star. "You got married. In Vegas. After getting thrown out of a strip club."

"Proud of you." The dupe that's standing behind them puts his arms around both Ric and 'Star, pulling them close together.

“... Yep,” Ric says with an awkward half-smile, patting the dupe on the hand in an attempt to encourage him to let go. The dupe appears to have other ideas entirely. Ric feels a hand slide into his back pocket and squeeze, and it’s definitely not ‘Star.

“Jamie,” he cautions, eyes wide. “Reabsorb.”  
  


“Julio,” the dupe mocks him, speaking right into his ear. “Unclench.”

That does it. Rictor wrenches himself out of the dupe’s grip, elbowing him a little too viciously on the way out. “Jamie, I swear to god,” he grumbles, directing a dirty look at Layla, who is laughing behind her hand. “And don’t call me --”

Jamie reabsorbs the dupe, somehow managing to look even less amused than Rictor does. He tugs on his collar after he does, and makes a face.

_Way to make it obvious,_ Ric thinks, resisting the urge to groan in frustration. “Never mind,” he finishes, figuring anything more would only make it weirder. He reaches out behind him and finds ‘Star’s hand on instinct, intertwining their fingers.

'Star looks around the room for a moment, a slow realization dawning on him. He doesn't say anything. "So why this? Why not restart X-Factor?"

"Why restart X-Factor?" Jamie says back. "Seemed like a bit of a lost cause after everyone vanished or went their separate ways. You two certainly seem better off." It may not be the best choice of words, but it seems true.

"That's -" Ric begins to argue, before his brain catches up with his mouth. "... huh." He considers it. "Maybe. But it hasn't exactly been smooth sailing, you know?" He bites his tongue. If there's anyone he'd want to spill to, anyone he'd trust to keep their secret a secret, it's Jamie. They've always been on the same wavelength.

'Star is glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"It's complicated," he ends up saying. "There's still a lot of stuff we have to do."

Jamie quirks an eyebrow. "So what are you guys? Guardians of all the other galaxies? Time cops?"

Ric smiles in spite of himself. Jamie, despite everything, is a little too charming.

"Both, I guess. But I like the sound of the last one more."


	3. The Most Important Meal of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with at least 20% (but no more than 30% ) more plot.

"Time cops?" 'Star has to ask as soon as they are on the bus back from Jamie's. It looks like he's been turning the idea over in his mind since it had first been mentioned. "Isn't that a movie we watched once?" He distinctly remembers something of the sort. "It has a certain ring to it."

“ _Time Cop_ , singular,” Ric corrects, shifting in his seat to rest his head on ‘Star’s shoulder. The seats are cramped and patterned in a way that reminds him of the worst of his fashion choices from the 90s. “ _Time Cops_ plural was a porno.” Come to think of it, maybe Ric’s seen that one as well.

He yawns, covering his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve, and snuggles closer to ‘Star. If he’s going to fall asleep on a bus, it may as well be like this. He’s more tired than he should be, and his jaw still kind of smarts from when Jamie’s dupe punched him. “Guess we’re a little of both, though, huh?”

"Ah I see. I thought it sounded familiar." 'Star puts his arm around Ric, trying to shift to be comfortable in the closed space. He hesitates before he says what comes to mind next, wondering how to broach the topic.

Eventually, he decides to just say it. "Did you sleep with Jamie?" The question comes out of the blue, but he had honed in to the way that dupe had grabbed Ric's ass and the slight awkwardness that ensued afterward. It's easier for him to read Rictor now, more than it’s ever been, so he can't help but ask. All signs point to 'Star not being particularly perturbed by the thought, just genuinely curious.

Ric saw it coming. “I,” he starts, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. He knows ‘Star is the last person to judge him for things like this, but he’s never been great about voicing this stuff in the first place. “Yeah. A couple of times.” _Five._ “It was --” he stops, searching for the right way to phrase it. _It was nothing_ doesn’t quite cover it, and _we needed each other_ is technically true but sounds like an overstatement. It had started out with the fact that Jamie was just easy to talk to, and ended with a series of semi-planned bedroom (and shower, and desk) hijinks that were, ultimately, one of the only things they _didn’t_ speak about afterwards.

“It was nothing like us,” Ric finishes, and that sums it up as well as anything.

"I know. There is nothing like us." That statement also speaks volumes about just how much 'Star has reined in his feelings about sexual exploration. "I have wondered, however, about the sexual applications of his mutation. I hope it was enjoyable at least." And 'Star really means that. He came to the realization long ago that Rictor had not been in the best of places before he had returned to Earth. If Jamie helped him through that, he owes the other man a debt of gratitude.

Ric blushes deeply, both at Star’s question and at the nonchalance of the statement before it. _There is nothing like us._ He can’t decide whether he wants to hide his face against ‘Star’s shirt or sit up and kiss him, here in front of everyone.

He settles for slipping his arm around ‘Star’s waist and settling closer. “It was, um…” he interrupts himself with a sort of startled chuckle, breath hot against ‘Star’s neck. “... I’ll tell you about it later,” he finishes, rather slyly.

"I look forward to your in-depth explanation," 'Star smirks before kissing Ric on the forehead. "In the meantime, however... what do we do now? Return to New York, and then what?" He recalls they did have a plan at one point, but...

It's taken longer to get used to Earth routines than he thought it would. "Do we go after Harrison Snow? Under the assumption that he is no longer who he says he is?"

"We're not ready," Ric says, sounding weary. "We need plans. Intel. We need more time." He's been through Serval's systems no fewer than six times now, top to bottom, and there's still no sign of anything dirty. Harrison Snow, as far as Ric can tell, is as shiny-white and spotless as his namesake.

Rictor knows he must be missing something. Nobody's ever that clean unless they're hiding something, and that's obvious, but what really gets to him is how well they're hiding it. Every now and then, he finds himself saying _Hodge_ when the name he's looking for is _Snow._

That gets to him too.

He moves on. "And we need to find somewhere to stay. Somewhere permanent, or at least more permanent than a hotel." He glances up, swallowing the inexplicable lump in his throat. They're moving in together, obviously. That's big. "And, I guess that means we'll need... stuff. Curtains and sheets and maybe furniture." It's almost surreal to talk about this. He's a superhero, and a mutant. He's never thought about it in explicit terms, but he supposes he just never expected to live long enough to experience any of this.

"Can we get a big bed? Like the one from the hotel?" 'Star asks, a little wide eyed at the thought. Having someplace permanent to stay, or even just the thought of it, making his lips twitch into a smile. The last time they had an semblance of what would be considered the norm was back on X-Factor and still--it wasn't exactly _normal._

Momentarily thoughts of Evil X-Factor, Harrison Snow and future earth are replaced by the sheer amazement that they had made it this far. Together and in more or less one piece.

It is kind of amazing considering that just last week, before they arrived --

‘Star would rather not think about that.

“Maybe not quite as big as the one from the hotel,” Ric answers him. He still looks, and probably sounds, vaguely troubled. He pushes Serval to the back of his mind, telling himself he’ll deal with it later when he’s slept better. In his head, the idea is packed away in a shoebox, and the shoebox has a sweater wrapped around it, and both of them are stowed away under a bed, corner peeking out from under the mattress. It’s a visualization technique he picked up from a psychic he knew on Future Earth. Apparently, placing thoughts as items in a mental landscape helps you keep things hidden during a telepathic attack. Rictor mostly finds it useful for filing away his problems for later, not that he wasn’t already pretty good at that.

He hasn’t thought much about what it would be like to move into an apartment of his own, but he realizes ‘Star would’ve thought about it even less. Ric’s not sure where it would factor in amongst things like -- what does Shatterstar even think about? -- _swords_ and _waking up every day at 4am exactly_ and _getting visibly upset every time someone reminds you that Baywatch got cancelled_ , or even if he’s entertained the thought at all.

But he’s obviously thinking about it now, and he looks so purely excited about it that it breaks Ric’s heart a little.

Mostly because Ric knows he’s going to have to object to every idea ‘Star comes up with, and he’s _awful_ at denying him things. If anything, he’s only gotten worse at it over the years.

“I know we’ve still got a ton of cash from Vegas, but who knows how long that’ll last?” Not to mention his own savings, which he still keeps in his backpack. Somehow, that seems safer than leaving them in the bank, especially now he doesn’t know where or when he might end up at any given point. “I could, I dunno, start looking for a job, but…” he stops himself, shaking his head. He feels so far removed from normal life on earth (if he ever even had a normal life to begin with) that the thought of working shifts at some grimy diner or hellish retail outlet makes him want to scream and run. How would he even begin to explain his lack of qualifications to an employer? _Hi, I know I’m twenty-five and I’ve never worked a day job in my life, but I have significant experience in combat and covert ops thanks to my past as a teenage super-soldier and then as a wannabe private detective._

He doesn’t laugh. He can’t even force a smile. “We need to look for someplace smaller,” he tells ‘Star apologetically. “At least until we… until we figure out how long we’re staying.” ‘Star must have felt the increase in his heart rate, or the sudden clamminess of his hands, because he pulls Ric a little closer. It helps. “We should get a TV, though. A nice one.” This morning, he’d woken up to ‘Star trying to figure out Netflix on Ric’s new laptop. He had no issue with getting it started, but seemed horrified at the loading speed and the fact that the screen was small and, quote unquote, not befitting of a program as grand as _Spartacus._

'Star was sort of under the impression that they would be staying permanently once they sorted out the future, or maybe he just figured that is what Ric would want. Going _back to normal_ had been an appealing thought, at least at first, and he's a little bit disappointed that Ric seems less excited by it. Though -- having time to sit and watch television again...

That sounds amazing.

"I am not certain either of us are cut out for normal jobs." It's the honest truth and 'Star knows if they had really needed it, Jamie would have let them stay with him. In all reality, 'Star is a little surprised that he hadnt offered in the first place. Mostly likely an attempt to preserve his new un-superheroic life. 'Star respects it, even if he doesn't understand it. "Our real job should still be finding a way to stop Alex Summers."

At first 'Star was sure that their real objective in being time displaced was to ensure time flowed as it should, uninterrupted and unchanged, but the longer they were away and the farther they went, it really became obvious that that wasn't always as easy as it seemed.

“Except it’s not that simple,” Ric says. He isn’t arguing; more wondering aloud, trying to make sense of his thoughts. “We don’t even know where he is, let alone what happened - or will happen - to push him over the edge like that.” He’s never liked Alex Summers, but there’s a difference between being a self-righteous asshole and keeping it to yourself and being a self-righteous asshole and using it as a justification for murder and worse. The Alex he knew limited himself to patronizing lectures and habitually stealing Rictor’s food from the fridge at X-Factor HQ. “And even if we found out, what would we even do about it?"

'Star looks at Ric with a distressed expression at first before it slides into a something a little more comfortable. "We don't fix it here. We gather enough resources and go back. We can stop Havok in the future."

They may be time travelers but they are members of X-Factor. 'Star isn't sure that he will ever not consider himself a member of that team. "Tampering with the time stream isn't the way." It's never been, but he know that Rictor has always known that. Very astute for someone that is not innately a time traveler. It's one of the many reasons 'Star trusts Ric with his life.

The thought of having to go back to Future Earth brings Ric’s anxiety back tenfold. ‘Star’s right, though, as usual. Going back is the safest way to do it, although Ric’s not sure the word “safe” could really apply to a plan that carries such a high chance of one or both of them getting killed. They made it out last time, but barely. They learned, but their enemies must have learned too, and who knows how far they’d go to stop him and ‘Star from escaping again?

_They won’t bother trying to catch you._ The voice in the back of his head is quiet and insidious, and it travels through the same channels as the shivers in his hands and the twist in the pit of his stomach. This is the sound of the things he tries not to think about. _They’ve got others. You saw the names. You won’t get the chance to negotiate this time. You’ll get a bullet and ‘Star will get five, or ten, or however many it takes, and they’ve probably got that figured out too. He’s not invincible, you know._

Rictor squeezes his eyes shut, raising his hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. Sweat beads cold on his forehead, and he fights against how distant he suddenly feels, how lost. _Not now,_ he tells himself fiercely. _Whatever this is -- deal with it later._

It's 'Star that brings him back to reality. "Julio. I won't make the same mistake when we go back." He'd trusted Alex, at least the first time they met him, his judgement clouded by the comradery if even briefly they had as a team. He was betrayed in the worst way and he knows Ric suffered for it as well. He pulls the smaller man even closer if possible, almost crushing him against his side. "We're not alone. We have help."

If push comes to shove, there are people here they know they can trust. People that might understand the stakes and agree to help out. It's a gamble, but it's one that 'Star is willing to take. He won't be captured again. Won't let Ric see him so powerless.

If he's honest, he's a bit ashamed that it happened in the first place.

“You’re right,” Ric concedes, after taking a deep breath. He finds it easier to pull himself together when ‘Star helps him hold all the pieces in place. Mentally, he goes back to the shoebox with the sweater wrapped around it and tucks Future Earth away inside it, beside Serval. He makes a brief mental note to thank the guy who taught him how to do that, if he ever sees him again.

They’ve still got at least half an hour of bus travel ahead of them. Ric tugs his backpack out from under the seat and takes out his new laptop, which is tethered to ‘Star’s phone (also new) for wifi. He opens it, types a very complex-looking password, and pulls up a list. “I, uh, had a look at some apartments. This morning, while you were in the shower.” Or in front of the mirror, messing with his hair, or whatever he does that keeps him in the bathroom for an hour every morning. That’s an exaggeration, but not by much. “There’s a couple on the way if you don’t mind getting off a stop or two early?”

"Certainly. I think it will be good for us." 'Star gives Ric a smile, trying to ward off any anger from thinking about past experiences on Future Earth. It's not good to restrain that anger and even though Ric's closeness helps, he's thinking that maybe they should both try to do some things to relax. Something to take their minds off of everything that happened before, and the intrusive thoughts in the corners of both their minds.

"Maybe we should start doing yoga."

\--

The first thing that happens when they get into their new apartment is that 'Star hits his head on the top of the doorframe. It seems studio apartments in NYC never had to accommodate a overly tall extraterrestrial warrior before.

It's not an impressive place at first glance, or at second or third, but it will do. It's got one bedroom that also functions as a living room and kitchen as well. The only thing not sticking out in the middle of everything is the bathroom ( _thank goodness_ ).

Compared to where they’ve been staying recently (not including last night’s hotel, of course), though, it’s practically a palace. It’s dark by the time they get home -- finding the apartment took less time than Ric expected, but signing all the paperwork for it seemed as though it took hours -- and thus far the only belongings they have in the apartment are the items they were carrying and a slightly moth-eaten looking mattress which came with the room. No bed frame. Just a mattress. It’s Ric’s fault, really, for not reading the fine print on the classified, the bit that said _unfurnished._

They’ll have to work on that tomorrow. Ric is kind of dreading it.

He’s pretty bad at this whole _normal adult human being_ thing, and nothing drives the point home more than their empty apartment and their shitty, blanketless mattress. There’s a blanket in his backpack, and it’s dirty, but it should be big enough for them to share. If they huddle.

“Well,” he sighs, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and taking off his shirt and shoes. “At least we have each other.” He pauses. “And Netflix.”

"I thought it would be a bit more glamorous." 'Star says and there is a small note of disappointment in his voice. "But you're right, we still have each other." He kisses Ric's cheek. "And Netflix." 'Star takes his boots off and puts them by the door before rejoining Ric on the bed and removing his shirt as well.

"Looks like it's healing." There are warm fingers against Ric's skin and 'Star examines his healing but still rather gnarly wound. He's careful as he touches but he's just trying to make sure there isn't anything infected.

"Good to know." It hasn't been itching as much today, which Ric assumes is because all the showers he took at the hotel (three, in total) cleaned out whatever was irritating it. He's glad - he hadn't been looking forward to explaining the origin of the wound to a doctor. "Hey, you don't have to keep sticking your hands in that. I think it's gonna be okay." The attention is nice, though. He feels tense, and his shoulders ache, and the heat of 'Star's hands is soothing against his skin.

"I think so too, but it doesn't hurt to check." 'Star is a little mothering sometimes, but he has the best intentions and that wound might have had the potential to end Rictor's life if it hadn't been treated. His hands move from the scar and up Ric's back before 'Star starts to massage his shoulders. Saying he's tense is an understatement but it just so happens that pressure point knowledge doesn't just come in handy when you're looking for an opponent’s weakness.

"You don't need to --" the rest of the sentence is lost to a groan as 'Star's fingertips dig into the spot between his shoulder blades and his spine. It hurts a little -- he's tenser than he thought -- but only in the best of ways. He lets himself relax into 'Star's hands. "Mm, yeah, that's -- no wait, up a bit." He knows he doesn't need to give instructions, because 'Star knows exactly what he's doing, but he has a tendency to babble when 'Star is touching him, regardless of context. "There," he sighs, rolling his shoulders back to ease out the strain. "That's perfect."

'Star smiles as his thumbs dig into the muscles and where Ric pointed him. "Mmm, perfect." He moves close and whispers it against Ric's skin."You're perfect." 'Star massages slowly as he starts to kiss up the side of his neck. "And the least I can do is give you a massage."

“The least, huh?” Ric closes his eyes, letting the corner of his mouth creep upwards in a smile. ‘Star can’t see that, but Ric gets the feeling he might know it’s there anyway. “So, just out of interest…” he turns his head, interrupting the path of ‘Star’s lips on his neck and stealing a kiss. “... what would be the most?”

"Making love to you until you're melting against the mattress." 'Star leans in again after Ric's pulled away, crushing his lips against his, kissing him deeply. His hands dig in deeper as well, moving to work those knots out. "Is that what you had in mind?" 'Star's voice is low as he pulls away, locking eyes with Rictor.

"Um." It's been years, and somehow 'Star still manages to make him speechless. He wonders if it will ever stop. He hopes it won't. "Yep, that... pretty much covers it." Finally he turns around, shifting so that he sits facing 'Star with his legs outstretched in front of him, to 'Star's side. Their lips meet again, but not as deeply as before; instead, Ric pulls back after every brief kiss, moving a fraction further down towards the mattress as he does, enticing 'Star to follow him.

'Star follows, itching to make the kisses deeper but Ric's not allowing it. He moves as close as possible, hand splaying out on his bare back. "Maybe--" Another kiss. "Something nicer than last time. No choking, even though I know how much you liked it, Julio." He moves to kiss Ric's adam’s apple with a dark chuckle. "Dirty boy."

This time, Ric stops moving long enough to let 'Star's lips linger. "Still hurts," he breathes, responding to the light pressure on the bruises on his throat with a happy sort of whimper. "You really did a number on me, _corazón._ " The use of that term of affection indicates that he likes the idea of them doing something nicer, that he's open to soft touches and quiet words and being close. It's taken him a while, but he's slowly getting used to the feeling that they finally have time for this.

"I only give you what I know you can handle." 'Star takes care to kiss every last one of those fading bruises, putting a tenderness into them that he's only ever shown Ric. His hands glide up his sides, brushing over his stomach before his fingers run appreciably across the hard muscle there. This is nice too, taking it slow, 'Star getting a chance to physically show Rictor just how much he loves him; to worship his body in the most complete way. "And now I want to take care of you."

The last time he uttered those words he didn't exactly get to follow through.

\--

On their wedding night, ‘Star carries Rictor over the threshold the way he’s seen it done in movies. It’s very romantic, even if Rictor is laughing so hard ‘Star has trouble maintaining his grip on him.

He’s not so drunk anymore, just happy.

"I think we confused the attendant at the wedding chapel." 'Star says before laying Ric down gently on the bed. They did much much more than that, but confuse is certainly the most gentle way to put it. "Was I supposed to take your last name, or…?” He's a little confused about it as well but even so, 'Star hasn't stopped smiling since the ceremony.

Honestly, he's not sure he'll ever stop smiling now.

"I dunno, man," Ric flops down, splaying out on the bed in a way that clearly suggests he's leaving space for 'Star on top of him. His shirt rides up around his ribs, and he makes no move to fix it. He's in better shape than he has been for years, all sun-kissed skin over flat muscle. The worst (or maybe best) part is that he knows it.

"I'm glad you did, though," he adds softly, with a fond smile. " _Benjamin Richter_. It's got a ring to it." He's teasing, more than anything. Benjamin Russell was just a name on paper, and it's more 'Star's own now that he's combined it with Rictor's, but it's still not him.

" _Shatterstar_." Ric's arms are open and his smile is bright in the dark.

"Shatterstar." 'Star repeats his full name in affirmation. He's always liked it, not because it sounds heroic or because it's a mutant codename but because it's purely his. The first thing that was ever just _his_. Gaveedra Seven seems so far away now, and marrying Rictor has only made that more evident than ever. "I like it when you say my full name." 'Star smiles before again before joining Ric on the bed and quickly removing the other man’s shirt. "I also like you having an ego." It really is about time Ric understood just how attractive he is. ‘Star runs his hands up all that golden skin, making sure to feel every curve of hard muscle.

At any other time, Rictor would dispute that. _Fake it ‘til you make it_ , he’d always told himself, and even these days, he occasionally finds himself faking it.

But not right now. There’s a certain indisputable truth to the look in ‘Star’s eyes when he’s with him, something that focuses on his battle scars and the gradual fade of colour on his arms and the dark valleys under his eyes and the rough makings of a beard on his chin and doesn’t shy away. ‘Star looks at him with so much obvious adoration that he can’t help but get caught up in the current of it. He has always made Ric feel as though he could move mountains.

Rictor reaches up, catches ‘Star by his shirt, and tugs him down on top of him.

"I love you, Julio." 'Star whispers in his ear as they press together. "My husband." A smile itches at the corners of his mouth. There is something so domestic about it that it reminds 'Star of old episodes of _Step by Step_. "So," He catches his lips in a quick kiss. "What should my first act as a married man be?" The innuendo is there, but he wants to hear Ric say it.

Ric never thought he’d fall for domesticity, but then again, ‘Star has a long history of making Ric fall in love with the unexpected.

And: the idea that he and ‘Star are _married_ now makes his head spin. ‘Star is fire and light and fearful beauty above him. He remembers when he still seemed untouchable, too alien and too distant to even fathom; remembers that he was too hot to handle and too scary to even think about outside the cover of night. And now -- _well._

“Mr. Richter,” Ric addresses him, with a wink. Craving contact, he pulls ‘Star’s shirt up by the hem, not past his shoulders but just enough that their chests are touching; enough to make him seem warm and solid and _there._ “First act, huh?” he pauses, feigning consideration. “Maybe… pinning me down on the bed and fucking me until I can’t w --”

He is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Man, are you serious?” He calls out. His voice has an edge to it; ‘Star has evidently decided to ignore the knocking in favor of pressing a series of hot kisses to Ric’s neck, hard enough to make him squirm but not quite enough to distract him from the fact that _whoever is outside is still knocking._

“Cut it out,” he grumbles, then glances at ‘Star. “Not you,” he clarifies, with an apologetic smile. “You can keep going.”

There is a moment of silence that might have signalled that Ric got his his way and chased whoever it was at the door away, until three distinct claws burst through the wood door and a foot kicks it the rest of the way open.

"Hello, boys." It's the blond waitress who waves to them from the other side of the splintered door, smirking before that facade shifts away and a vaguely familiar face is staring back at them. A blue-skinned shapeshifter with all of Mystique’s coldness and all of Logan's scrappiness. "Am I interrupting?"

He pops his other set of claws, bone-white in the dim light of the hallway, and that's the last thing that 'Star can remember until he wakes up cold and so unnervingly alone.

\--

"There you go." Raze is smug as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Mr. And Mrs. Julio Richter." There is a sort of suppressed laugh in his voice as he smirks at Alex Summers.

'Star can hear them being spoken about but he's too out of it to move, and with such a heavy weight in his limbs. Must have been dosed with one hell of a tranquilizer. His heart is hammering in his chest but he can hardly feel it, everything numb or close to it.

Havok doesn’t laugh, nor does he smile. “Move the teleporter into his containment tank,” he instructs, cold and abrupt. The walls are lined with them, plexiglass tubes as high as the ceiling filled with silvery liquid and reeking of chemicals. Most are empty, but some are filled, and all carry a name tag on the base. The X-Factor of the future is nothing if not orderly.

Raze answers with a salute. It’s mocking, but Summers doesn’t seem to realize. “Yes sir,” the blue mutant drawls. “And the other one?”

“Rictor,” Summers muses, but it falls on ears unhearing. Ric is out cold, slumped on the floor about a metre in front of ‘Star. His injuries are less severe than ‘Star’s, but there’s a thin trail of blood drying under his nose, and a lot more of it matting the hair at the back of his head. Of all his teammates in Investigations, Ric had always been Alex’s least favourite.

“Sir?” Raze prompts. He has ‘Star slung over his shoulder, not even bowing under the weight. There’s a specific process for preparing subjects for the tanks, and a table at the end of the room to do it on, and Raze is on his way.

Still, Alex thinks, they had been teammates. Comrades.

“I’m not heartless,” Alex says. His words are punctuated by the sound of Raze dropping ‘Star on the table, the low metallic echo of his head hitting the metal surface. “Put a dampener on him and leave him in my office. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

“Done,” Raze leaves ‘Star on the table without a second glance and returns to Rictor on the floor. He lifts him, with much more effort than he required with ‘Star, and carries him out. Rictor doesn’t stir.

\--

The worst part about being drugged is the sheer inability to move. Or at least that's the conclusion that 'Star is drawing as he lies face up, hearing a conversation that his brain can only half process at the moment. He's already cold but he's getting colder by the second. Stripped of his swords, he can feel feel hands on him and cold steel against his back. His healing factor is trying to kick in -- probably the only reason he can feel or hear anything -- but it flickers, like a light bulb that needs to be screwed in more or some sort of electronic trying to restart.

"He's prepped," someone says distantly. "Get the IV ready."

A hand moves to his arm and he knows somewhere in his head they are looking for a vein, finding it with precision. The pinch of the needle is felt for a split second and then nothing. 'Star finally blacks out.

The doctor that was working on him checks the power dampening collar on his neck before turning to the nurse. "You can move him now." She nods curtly before the table is wheeled off down the hallway and 'Star is submerged in his liquid prison.

It's quite a collection if you stand back and look at it. Time travelers, teleporters, and anyone with magic strong enough to do either of those things, all held here. It looks like more of a mutant zoo than a prison and it's grossly unethical either way you perceive it. Names stick out in ‘Star’s mind as he floats there, not entirely under the effects of the anesthetic just yet. _Nathan Summers_ , the nameplate across from his prison reads, and if he wasn’t so numb he would be able to feel his gut twist in a knot. _Eva Bell,_ ‘Star only recognizes that name peripherally, but he has a feeling that she’s very important to either the future or the past and that being contained here is wreaking havoc on one timeline or another. ‘Star can feel his eyes getting heavy, the sting of the liquid surrounding him getting farther and farther away; but before it takes him completely, he sees one last name and tells him everything he needs to know about this X-Factor of the future. _Wanda Maximoff_.

\--

Rictor wakes up alone, and the first thing he notices is the absence of his powers.

His time as an arena slave on Mojoworld must have taught him well, because he doesn’t scream. He keeps still, swallowing the panicked lump in his throat, and takes in his surroundings.

Years ago, being fitted with a dampening collar would’ve been his worst nightmare. Hell, it happened a few times, so he knows for sure that it was. He remembers screaming back then. He remembers being willing to give up, being unable to imagine anything worse.

That was before M-Day.

Rictor knows what it’s like to live a nightmare, and this isn’t it. This isn’t hopeless, and he isn’t giving up -- not until he gets out. He’s a fighter now, a warrior. Losing the battle is unacceptable, especially with so much at stake.

‘Star is still out there somewhere. He has to be. The alternative is unthinkable.

The collar is heavy around his neck, just like he remembers. What he doesn’t remember from last time is the low hum of power in his veins, weak but still present below the surface. This isn’t normal, but it is hopeful. It’s close, and he calls out to it, screwing his eyes shut and clearing his mind and trying to align his pulse with the steady thrum of movement in the earth. He’s called it its heartbeat, before, and that’s apt. He doesn’t know how long he focuses for, but when he opens his eyes, Alex Summers is sitting at the desk in front of him.

Ever so slightly, the floor begins to shake.

\--

There isn't any need for heart monitors down here, everyone is supposed to be in perfect stasis. Body cared for so it doesn't break down, just the perfect blend of nutrients through that IV to keep muscles from atrophying or decaying. Not that anyone is ever supposed to escape or get out. They are all here for a reason, at least according to the X-Factor of the future.

'Star floats there, suspended in silver with his hair haloing his head. He'd look beautiful if it weren't for the implications. He's been allowed to keep his pants for dignity’s sake but his shirt has been discarded for purpose of ease; regular checkups and evaluations and the like. X-Factor doesn't want him, or any of the others, dead. Just contained.

A hooded figure stands at the tank, hand pressed against the glass. "Hard to believe they managed to take you, Shatterstar." It either must have been a hell of a fight or a dirty sneak attack because she knows the kind of strength he fights with. She can get him out but she's going to need help.

Even down here she can feel the ground quake for just a moment, which means the best kind of help is still coming. She just has to make sure of it.

\--

Alex’s voice is far calmer than his expression. “How did you break out of the collar, Rictor?”

“Honestly? Not a fucking clue.” The same could be said of Rictor. He stands with his feet apart in a fighting stance and his hands ready at his sides, blazing with power. He’s terrified, but not of Alex; not even remotely.

On the rooftop, he told Jamie his powers made him feel like the earth was his mother, and he was her child, carried to her chest and pressed to the sound of her heartbeat. That was how it was, before M-Day and after he got his powers back.

But something has shifted. If he was a child before, then now he’s grown up. If he used to be part of the earth, then maybe now they’re one and the same. With the collar off, he feels… connected, linked in to the shift of the plates and the boil of magma under the earth’s crust, heart matching the hum of a geological rhythm he never even knew existed before. It’s like he went to sleep underwater and woke up after breaking the surface. It is, probably, the scariest thing he’s ever experienced.

Everything else pales in comparison.

“Sit down.” Alex seems to have returned to his previous strategy.

Rictor says, “Tell me where ‘Star is or I’ll blast you through the window.”

Alex stares him down, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Julio, please. You’re not going to blast me through the --”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Rictor warns, raising his fists instinctively, “call me that.”

For an old guy, Alex’s reflexes are lightning fast. He’s out of his chair in a nanosecond, standing and thrusting his chest out and glowing with a light so bright it leaves spots in Ric’s eyes.

He’s fast, but Rictor? Rictor is superhuman.

The sound is deafening, but the light doesn’t touch him. When Ric opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the blue light of his own power, coursing off him in waves. It no longer emanates from his hands, but from his entire body. The room shakes so hard it makes his teeth rattle, but he’s protected, shielded by a constant thrum of energy that blocks Alex’s plasma ray as though it’s nothing more than a torchlight.

Alex’s eyes are wide with raw panic. “No,” he says, raising his hands. “No, don’t. He’s in the basement, the key card is in my desk, he’s --”

Rictor looks up at him, eyes alight and lips turned upwards in a sharp grin.

“Nice seeing you again,” he quips, and blasts Alex through the window.

\--

There is panic when someone so many people in the compound are scared of gets blown out a window. If people are supposed to stand their ground, they don't. It gives Lorna the opening she needs. Using her powers in here would have been too obvious before but now, now that all hell has broken loose? Why the hell not.

"Took you long enough!" She yells as soon as she sees Ric, taking her hood down and ditching the cloak she had on to keep a low profile in the first place. It looks like Rictor isn't really into low profile anymore anyway.

Her hair is short now but just a vibrant green as ever, clothes a mishmash of things the resistance calls a uniform. She might not look as sleek or put together, but Lorna has always had an edge to her. Maybe she gets it from her father. "'Star is this way!" She doesn't even wonder if Ric will take the time to be surprised to see her or if he'll just listen and go. The answer is already written all over his face.

Rictor will apologise for pushing past Lorna later on. Now, though, all he sees, all he can think of is ‘Star in the tank, motionless with his mouth open to the silvery, noxious-smelling liquid inside. Rictor runs toward him, falling on his knees at the base of the tank. On his way down to the basement level, he’d mentally run through several scenarios, each more horrific than the last, but he hadn’t been expecting this. He shudders, suddenly nauseous at the sight before him and the chemical scent. It’s the little details that stand out the most. The mark left by the IV in ‘Star’s left arm, and the thin lines of white visible through his slightly-parted eyelids, and the wounds still healing around his stomach, languid trails of blood misting into the liquid of the tank.

Rictor presses his hands to the glass, and focuses, and begins to channel a shockwave. Somehow, instinctively, he knows what he has to do. He can bust the glass and then form a barrier around ‘Star, sort of like a bubble, protecting him from most of the fallout. All it should take is a degree of concentration, and --

The tank shatters, sending shards of glass raining to the floor and liquid spitting from the cracks. Ric covers his eyes against it, getting drenched and feeling a stray sliver of glass glance against his shoulder, but when he looks again, ‘Star is in the bubble, slowly coming to and coughing up tank fluid. Ric drops the field and rushes forward to catch him, pulling him into an upright position so he doesn’t choke.

“‘Star,” he calls out, panicked and pleading. “‘Star, it’s me, I’ve got you.” He holds him closer, reaching up to push the damp strands of hair away from ‘Star’s face. “I’m here. Stay with me. Open your eyes.”

Lorna wants to scream at them to get going but she really can't bring herself to. The emotion is palpable in the room and she warps the metal of the door to make it impossible for anyone to get through without some effort.

Those droplets of silver liquid are still on his lips but the sedatives are wearing off and 'Star can at least feel himself being held by Ric now, his voice cutting through the haze in his mind like a knife. "Where--" He sputters with another cough, squeezing Ric tight as he tries to keep himself upright, eyes opening slowly. "What happened? Are you alright, Julio?" That's the first thing he needs to make sure of. The most important thing.

Rictor pulls him in close to his chest, making a noise that most closely resembles a sob. He holds him there for almost a minute, eyes closed and chin resting against the top of ‘Star’s head. ‘Star is freezing, and shivering even though he hardly ever does that. Ric does his best to warm him up -- _body heat and all that_ \-- and resolves to grab and appropriate Lorna’s cloak the minute he can bring himself to let go of ‘Star.

“‘Course I’m alright,” Ric assures him, finally forcing words around the lump in his throat. It’s not a thing he does consciously, but he always slips into casual speech patterns when he’s comforting ‘Star, as though if he acts like everything’s okay, then it might miraculously become so. His shoulder stings, but he barely notices it. “ _Amigo_ , I’m fuckin’... I’m fuckin’ excellent.” A laugh escapes his lips, borne more of relief than anything else. Here he is, throwing around terms he hasn’t used since they first started dating, and now they’re... married. And desperately clinging to each other inside a fucked-up containment room for mutants, in the future.

And married.

Ric realizes he might be a bit hysterical.

And 'Star doesn't believe that Ric's alright for a moment, but this isn't the time to talk about that. His memory of events is fuzzy at best but he does recall Havok's voice and --

"Please tell me you killed Alex Summers." He says it with conviction even if he coughs right afterward.

"I wish." Lorna says with a sigh. "He's got more lives than a cat, apparently." Their touching moment is all well and good, but they really need to go. "We need to get out of here or it won't be just Alex you have to worry about."

"Star groans a little as he shifts, the wounds on his belly almost healed but not all the way. "She's right. We may not have a second chance." He looks at Ric, locking eyes. "I am alright -- we can go." That may not be quite true at the moment but he will be fine soon enough and there is no reason to wait around here and ask for a fight when there doesn't need to be one. They will get a chance later, he'll make sure of it.

Or sooner, as the case may be.

Lorna raises her hand, open-palmed, and then makes a fist, and as she does, the metal door to the exit crumples as though it were paper. It falls to the ground with a loud, echoing clang.

Raze is standing in the doorway, claws out, smiling viciously. “Did I miss something?”

Ric’s blood runs cold. Under normal circumstances he’d be itching to fight, but this guy… he’s an unplanned variable. He managed to take both of them down in the room in Vegas, and they still don’t know what he’s fully capable of.

‘Star feels heavier than usual, leaning against Ric and supported with his arm around his shoulders. He’s healing, but he’s still hurt bad, and Ric knows he’s not even close to invincible.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ric hisses, tightening his grip. He glances around, scanning the room for alternate exits and finding none. “We need to get out of here as soon as possible. We have to --”

There’s a sound, heavy and wet and unpleasant, and a sudden heat down his side. It’s only when ‘Star pulls away from him, roaring in unbridled anger and throwing himself at Raze, that Ric realizes he’s been stabbed.

“I am going to kill you!” ‘Star growls it, not even caring about the claws and so filled with rage that he could bash Raze’s head in against the cold steel floor again and again until he sees blood.

“But you wouldn't hurt me. Would you, ‘Star?” The blue melts away and Raze is suddenly wearing Rictor’s face, voice spot on.

‘Star recoils for half a second before he pulls back and his fist meets the shapeshifter’s face. “You disgusting coward!” He shouts it, voice almost sounding hoarse. He’s about to punch him again before he’s pulled back, Lorna’s magnetic field trapping him in a bubble.

“Shatterstar! Rictor is hurt and you have to get out of here! I can hold him off, you go!” Lorna only lets him go once she’s managed to put herself between them. “Go!” She’s got to deal with Raze and then take care of what she initially came here for in the first place, to free her sister.

The adrenaline in his system is telling him not to leave this fight, but his mind and his heart snap some sense back into him. How foolish of him. ‘Star is at Ric’s side as soon as he can be, hands holding that wound on his side as tight as possible. “Julio -- you’ll be alright, I promise, but we need to go. Please -- think of anywhere but here. Someplace safe.” Asking him to anchor his teleport in this condition is more than unfair, but they don’t have a choice.

Ric's thoughts are fuzzy, and his vision is going the same way. He hopes 'Star isn't holding his guts in. That would be bad. Also, unromantic.

"Just wanna go home," he murmurs, stumbling as 'Star rushes him out of the room and down the adjoining corridor. A large section of one wall is in ruins, rubble littering the floor around it. Ric glances back, looking for Lorna, but his eyes seem to focus automatically and only on the steady trail of blood they're leaving behind them. _Breadcrumbs,_ he thinks hazily.

"I'm thinking of it," he says, once they're clear. _Home. I want to go home. I want to go --_

\---

If Ric’s a light sleeper now, ‘Star may have gotten even worse while they have been away. 4am on the dot and he still does his routine, but once he’s finished he returns to bed, something he never used to do. ‘Star kisses Ric’s bare shoulder in the morning as soon as he wakes back up, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. The first night in the apartment had been well spent and the mattress isn't that terrible to sleep on; not that ‘Star is the best judge of something like that in the first place. “Are you awake, Julio?” He peppers those strong shoulders with more kisses, making a bit of a face when he hears his stomach growl. That’s something relatively new, unless he just never noticed it before. “I think I’d like to get some breakfast.” It is the most important meal of the day of course and after doing three thousand push ups in the span of an hour and a half, he supposes his body is protesting just a little.

“Mmrgh,” Ric eloquates, shifting in ‘Star’s arms. He reaches up lazily and rubs sleep out of his eyes, blearily hoping ‘Star will relax his grip and let him sleep in for another hour or so. It’s unlikely, especially given how long ‘Star has been awake already and how long he’s waited, but a guy can dream.

‘Star has moved on from his shoulders and is presently kissing his neck. _Unfair._

“Okay, ‘m up,” Ric yawns, and he is. He turns around and meets ‘Star’s lips in a sleepy, somewhat messy kiss, before shrugging out of his arms and throwing back the covers. He stands up and stretches, closing his eyes and lifting his arms above his head. He’s half-hard and entirely naked, and the morning sunlight paints him gold.

He relaxes, and seems to wake up a little. “Um,” he glances down, then at ‘Star, as though he’s suddenly realized the state he’s in. “I’m.” It’s a little too early for proper sentences. He gestures towards the bathroom with a vague wave of his hand. “Shower.”

"Right now?" 'Star takes one look at Ric standing there and a hint of a mischievous smile curls at the edge of his lips. "Do you have time for something other than a shower?" He moves to the edge of the mattress, shuffling forward on his knees until he can reach out and grab Ric's hips, pulling him forward. He admires all that golden skin before moving forward to kiss his stomach.

It's not often they have time like this in the morning and 'Star wants to take advantage of it, and of Rictor. He breathes in his scent before his lips move downward. Leather and sunshine. That's what Julio smells like, even first thing in the morning. Like it's baked into his skin.

"You don't have to," Ric tells him, even as 'Star's mouth finds his hipbone and nips gently. "I was just gonna jerk off in the shower, dude, I hope you don't feel... I dunno, obligated to --" he stops, voice trailing off into a quiet moan. He's still half asleep, but he's waking up quickly, one part at a time. "God, _'Star,_ " he says, voice stark in adoration.

"Obligation? I believe I am obligated to worship your body when I see you standing in the sun like this." 'Star says before flicking his tongue against skin and dragging it down a little further. His hands move around to glide down the curve of Ric's ass, moving to take his cock in his mouth, moaning around it.

Ric cries out, a sharp, keening noise he's too dazed and sleepy to try to muffle. He threads his fingers through 'Star's hair, holding on feather light to the soft strands, and he sort of curls toward him, craving closeness even though their position doesn't really allow for it. 'Star's mouth is impossibly warm and deliciously wet, and far too talented for this hour of the morning. Ric is already weak at the knees, hazy and helpless to do anything but hold on and call out 'Star's name over and over and try to stay standing.

'Star's hands travel down Ric's ass to the back of his legs, fingertips skimming all that sensitive skin that's hardly ever touched. His moans are appreciative, louder as he feels himself get hard and that arousal fuels the rhythm he moves with. He doesn't dare let Ric fall from his mouth, moving all the way back to the tip and swiping his tongue across the head before moving back down. His actions are just begging Ric to spill himself in his mouth. Like nothing would make 'Star happier.

It’s only been a few minutes, but Ric knows he never lasts long in the morning. He wants to chalk it up to him being tired, to waking up with an ache and the covers tented between his thighs, but secretly he knows that’s not it at all. ‘Star practically glows in the light of the morning, so pale he’s almost reflective. A constellation of freckles dots his shoulders, and his hair falls in soft, unbrushed curls, and his lips are impossibly red around Ric’s cock. He’s beautiful and it’s him, it’s always been him; this has nothing to do with the morning at all.

“‘Star -- _mi amor_ \--” Ric has a tendency to lapse into Spanish when he’s sleepy, or when his attention is… elsewhere. This time it’s both, and he keeps it up when he continues speaking. “You're too good at this, you know that? You're -- oh fuck, 'Star, I'm so close, keep going, I'm --"

'Star knows exactly how good he is at this and he knows exactly how to draw Ric's orgasm from him, push him to the edge and watch him hang over before reeling him back just to tease. Normally he'd keep this going for quite some time but he knows how close he is, can sense it in the slight quake of his body. He can practically feel Ric uncoiling beneath his mouth. He gets ready for him, rubbing the backs of his legs with a little more pressure, dragging the last pieces of resistance out of his body. 'Star almost wants to push a bit further to hear more Spanish pour from Ric's lips, but he's so close now that it might just be cruel to pull all the way back.

“-- coming,” Ric manages to say, and then he is. He tightens his grip on ‘Star’s hair involuntarily, letting slip a string of curses and praises and terms of affection, the kinds of things he’d never say in anybody’s presence except for that of the man in front of him. His climax hits him like a tidal wave and all he can do is cling to ‘Star to anchor himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he’s pulled under.

'Star groans when Ric comes, drinking him down with ease and not spilling a drop as he pulls away. His lips are cherry red from sucking and he licks them to get the final drops. "Better?" 'Star pants, nowhere near tired. He could go again if Ric needed him to. In fact, they could have sex all day with his seemingly endless amount of stamina. He leans back against the mattress, those workout pants that he insisted Ric buy him at the store doing nothing to hide his sizable bulge.

Ric sinks to his knees, slumping forward onto the mattress and covering his head with his arms. “Just give me a minute,” he pants, voice muffled against the blanket. He takes a moment (or several) to collect himself, mentally pulling himself together after being so thoroughly undone. Finally he looks up, glancing over ‘Star appreciatively. He suddenly feels a lot more awake.

“I dunno whether to thank you for choosing those pants or curse you for it,” he admits, eyes lingering on that bulge. ‘Star gives him a funny look, and he answers it with a smile; that earnest, lopsided smirk he wears whenever he makes a joke that ‘Star doesn’t quite get. He lifts himself onto the mattress, crawling forward on his knees to settle between ‘Star’s legs. “Guess I could start with this,” he shrugs, then lowers his head to mouth at ‘Star through his pants.

"Mmm--" 'Star archs up slightly, watching Ric between his legs for a moment before lifting his hand to thread fingers through his hair and using his other to skim over the shaved part of Ric's head. He can feel that he's already close and if he's not careful he could come right in those tight pants. His husband might take too much satisfaction in that, however. 'Star tightens his grip on his hair. "Are you trying to make me ruin these, Julio?" He feels himself throb and the look on Ric's face makes his entire body tingle.

Rictor only bothers looking up so that ‘Star can see the grin on his face. “Yep,” he says simply, and returns to what he was doing.

He runs his tongue along the length of ‘Star’s hardness, stopping to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the head. The kiss turns into another swipe of his tongue, and then he tilts his head, parting his lips wide and beginning to suck. If it’s slightly sloppy -- and it is -- then it’s entirely deliberate. He knows ‘Star too well for it not to be.

Those yoga pants don’t stand a snowflake’s chance in hell.

“Julio--” ‘Star’s response is stuttered, watching him work only making it harder to stay in control. Not that he ever really was in control; the second Ric put his mouth on him it all melted away. He bites his lip and starts canting his hips upward, trying to find some purchase against that messy and talented mouth. It’s almost impossible and all he can do is feel his hardness throb against Ric’s lips and tongue. “You are --” _awful_ is the word he's looking for, and also _amazing,_ but ‘Star isn't sure even if he could speak full sentences that he would have the words.

“I’m what?” Rictor mumbles without moving his mouth away, letting his teeth scrape just lightly against him. It’s an unfair tactic, but it works, and when ‘Star lifts his hips in response, Ric slips a hand beneath them and tugs down the back of his pants. “Well, whatever it is, it looks like you’re into it.” He palms the curve of one cheek and then squeezes, lifting him further towards his lips in the same motion. If he’s going to be playing dirty, then he’s not going to do things by halves.

Ric isn't just playing dirty, he's being utterly filthy, all open mouthed kisses on his still-clothed cock. 'Star can hardly help himself when he cries out, bucking forward and coming inside those too tight and too brightly colored pants. His head hits the back of the mattress and he's almost certain that even though he's climaxed, Ric is far from done with him.

Rictor pulls back to catch his breath and admire his work. ‘Star’s chest is flushed pink with heat and the front of his new pants is soaked through with spit and come, and Ric almost feels sorry for him.

Almost.

“God, these are probably ruined,” he runs his fingers over the waistband of the pants, curling them under at the side. “Sorry, man,” he apologises, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “Let me see if I can help you with that.” Slowly, carefully, aware of how sensitive ‘Star must be after everything, he lifts the waistband of ‘Star’s pants and eases them down, folding the fabric back at about mid-thigh. Then he lowers his head again, glancing up at ‘Star with an insufferably smug look in his eyes, and starts to lick up the mess.

'Star mourns for his ruined pants for barely a moment before becoming completely preoccupied with what Rictor is doing. He swallows hard, breathing already ragged from coming and cheeks flushed. It's a trait he hardly displays, but Ric can pull it out of him. "Putting on a show--" he breathes, resisting the urge to grab a hold of Ric's hair. "I should make you buy me new pants."

Rictor looks up at him sharply, drops of pearly white glistening on his lower lip. "I should make you clean this up yourself," he counters, and the tone of his voice makes it clear that he doesn't mean with soap. "But, lucky for you..." he licks and kisses some off the head of 'Star's cock, gentle but still almost unbearably hot on the sensitive skin. "... you taste too good for me to stop."

" _Fuck,_ " 'Star curses uncharacteristically, too overwhelmed to do anything else. And to think--all he really wanted was to get breakfast. "Do you like it too much to share with me?" He manages a smirk after that comment. Sometimes Ric's smart mouth just happens to rub off on him.

Ric pulls away, licking his lips but not quite catching all of it. "I like it a lot, but I'm a generous person, you know?" He sits up, eyes glinting wickedly.

"All you had to do was ask,” he says, and surges forward, covering 'Star's body with his own and capturing his lips in a deep, dirty kiss.

'Star moans as he tastes himself, sucking Ric's tongue into his mouth and crushing their bodies even closer together. Maybe, on second thought, it was okay to skip breakfast. Maybe they should skip breakfast more often. "Thank you," 'Star pants as he pulls away, “for being so generous."

"Likewise, man," Rictor chuckles, reaching up to wipe at a spot on 'Star's lip with his thumb. His mouth is still obscenely red, from sucking and from biting his lip in an (unsuccessful) attempt at keeping quiet.

Rictor hasn't met their new neighbour, but he suspects that whoever it is might already hate them.


	4. Apology Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sappy New Year! I mean happy chapter. I mean -- heck.

It’s snowing.

Rictor didn’t even realize before they left the house. It was warm enough indoors ( _thank god_ , he thinks, _because we couldn’t afford to get the heating fixed,_ and then _christ, is this what it’s like to be an adult?_ ) that he never even thought to check.

Plus, you know. Distractions.

He steers ‘Star back inside as soon as he notices, head suddenly swimming with visions of all the potentially dangerous mischief he might get into if Ric doesn’t keep an eye on him. Sure, he’s got a healing factor, but Ric doesn’t know if it’ll hold up against the cold; Mojoworld is _humid_ at best and _the sweaty armpit of the multiverse_ at worst and ‘Star just might not be built for Earth’s winter weather.

Ric bundles him up in two jackets, a shirt, and his own turtleneck sweater, and makes him promise not to try to make snow angels until they’ve found some proper winter clothes. Truth be told, he doesn’t entirely trust the cold weather either.

It is beautiful outside, though. Even if you don’t count all the lights, everything sort of… glitters.

Rictor steps closer to ‘Star, nudging his hand with the back of his own. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly playing it coy, or why he’s nervous (even if it’s only a little), but it turns out to be okay - ‘Star takes the hint and laces their fingers, squeezing tightly. Ric grants him a tiny, grateful smile, and they move on down the street.

They’ve never held hands in public like this before. Rictor finds he rather likes it.

"I never noticed how--" 'Star doesn't quite have the word he wants to use to describe everything right away, it's stuck in his head, somewhere between wanting to tell Ric that he's kind of hot in how many clothes he's dressed in and that he likes holding hands so they should do it more often. "... Sparkly it is outside." There. That's the proper adjective. It describes the lights and the light dusting of snow on everything.

It's not as if he's never seen the snow before, but he's never exactly seen it happen somewhere where he can enjoy it. He wonders for a second how people don't just stop and stare at it when it falls. With the way everyone is dressed, it seem like more of an annoyance to them than something to be happy about. 'Star doesn't understand that, but then again, no human knows what it's like to be on Mojoworld, either.

"So where exactly are we going?" He asks after a brief rever inside his own mind. "Besides to buy me new pants." He knows they made a list, but -- they might have forgotten it. Meaning that they did.

“We need a new blanket,” Ric begins listing everything that comes to mind. “Something long enough to cover your feet, you --” _tall, ginger and gorgeous_ “-- goddamn blanket hog.” He bumps ‘Star playfully with his hip, pushing him towards the edge of the sidewalk. “And…” he considers the list, and lets out a low whistle of a sigh. “A lot of stuff. Pillows. A bedframe, if we’re feeling fancy.” The joke might be lost on ‘Star, but perhaps that might be for the best, considering how much they need, and how little money they have to buy it with. “Soap and… I dunno, towels and stuff…” he lists off a few more household essentials, then brightens, having thought of something. “Oh! And we should get a TV.” ‘Star perks up a bit at that, and his smile is infectious. “We can put it in front of the bed, if you want.”

There’s other stuff as well, but he doesn’t list it. Not in public anyway, and for once, not in front of ‘Star. He’s got vague notions of maintaining the element of surprise, of trusting ‘Star to be on his wavelength in regards to whatever he’s into or at least to let him down gently in the event that he isn’t. He blames Vegas. He blames Vegas entirely.

“Uh,” he coughs, trying to figure out how to bring this up casually. “Those, uh, yoga pants -- Victoria’s Secret, right?” His cheeks are already flushed from the cold, so there’s nothing to be suspicious of there.

Thoughts of a TV have put proverbial stars in 'Star's eyes. "Is the Netflix something we can get on TV?" It's quickly become one of his favorite things. There are a lot of programs on there that he remembers watching with Ric, not only before they left but from when he was first getting acquainted with Earth as well. It gives him a very pleasant nostalgic feeling and he looks forward to not having to balance Ric's laptop on the edge of the bed like they have been doing. The question about the yoga pants kind of goes over his head for a second and he doesn't answer until they have crossed a busy intersection.

"I believe so? I just picked them out on our last shopping trip." When he wandered away from Ric who had been in another store completely and had come back with that bright pink bag. He remembers that cashier asking him if they were for his girlfriend. He remembers saying that they just seemed comfortable to work out in. "They have a lot of colors. I'm excited to buy a pair for you as well." 'Star gives him a bright smile.

He doesn't quite get it sometimes, but that might be for the best.

"That's... kind of you, but I," _don't have the legs for it_ , he thinks, and wow, he's got to do something about that snarky inner voice of his. He manages a nervous laugh. "I think I'll stick with sweatpants. Oh, and yeah, you can get Netflix on the TV." He's starting to get this sneaking suspicion that once they get home, 'Star might never want to leave their bed again, although after what happened this morning maybe he's okay with that.

"Good." 'Star tightens his grip on Ric's hand and pulls him into the store when they finally get to their destination. He's not sure how they are supposed to really agree on everything they need and it might just be easier to just let Ric get what he wants and then pick out a few things here and there that are just for him. That is unless (or rather _until_ )  'Star absolutely falls in love with one of the first things he sees after walking into the Macy's. It's a terrifying red and gold paisley comforter set. "It's very regal. We need it." By regal, he means it's actually very gaudy, but maybe those things are one in the same.

Rictor lets out a slightly panicked snort of laughter. _Is that a bedskirt? Are they even called bedskirts?_

"Jesus, 'Star," he shakes his head, pressing his palm to his forehead. "Show a guy some mercy, will you? For a second there I thought you were serious." He falls forward onto the bed with a soft flump. It's very cushiony, but the covers are the kind that would leave patterned imprints on your body if you slept in the nude. Which he does. All the time.

“I wasn’t--” ‘Star makes a face for a moment but he huffs a little childishly before walking to the next bed set he finds. “How about this one then?” It’s very underwhelming, but he does like the black and white. And the flowers are nice, even if he knows that Ric probably won’t like those either. What the man has against things that are actually aesthetically pleasing, he will never know. ‘Star takes a moment to squeeze the pillows before flopping back on it. The simple wood bedframe creaks from the force but it doesn't stop ‘Star from splaying out on the bed. A rather anxious looking store clerk stares at them from the other side of the bed and bath department, probably mapping all the ways out of the conversation if they decide that they actually need help.

“Hm?” Rictor stays where he is, but turns his head to follow the sound of ‘Star’s voice. “Oh. It’s…” Not actually that terrible, despite the flowers, but definitely not what he would have picked.

What _would_ he have picked? It’s not exactly the kind of thing he spends time thinking about. None of this is, honestly. The whole domesticity thing is a bit of a learning curve.

The closest they’ve had (together) was this itchy, check-patterned blanket someone pulled from a storage cupboard in X-Factor HQ. Hideous, but it did what it was intended for, and he was so happy to be sharing a bed with ‘Star again that he didn’t really think about it. Before that, he had an unzipped sleeping bag, which was a relic from their trip to Mexico that made it through his time with X-Corp -- he never really settled in to the room they gave him, or unpacked anything, or bought a proper blanket. In X-Force, he started out with _Simpsons_ sheets that everyone teased him mercilessly for; he changed them shortly before he started sleeping with ‘Star, to a totally edgy plain black set, although in retrospect he thinks ‘Star might have appreciated the _Simpsons_ ones more. Before that… huh. He remembers this scratchy, offensively colourful blanket he had as a child. If he recalls correctly, his mother crocheted it.

Thinking about that brings an unexpected ache to his chest. He’s not one for nostalgia, but… hell, it’s not really about the blanket, is it?

"Julio?" 'Star calls from his place on the other bed, looking at him from between the mess of black and white pillows. He looks like he's almost like he's stuck there, still wrapped in a turtleneck and wooly winter jacket that 'Star has picked out himself. He looks genuinely ridiculous, not that he would care if you told him. Earth notions about what he should and should not be doing or wearing have never really sunk in. 'Star buys what he likes and wears what he likes and if someone has a problem with it? Well--he's never hesitated in showing them the error of their ways. In fact, the last time someone hassled him, it was about the starburst around his eye and that wasn't even on this planet. As he recalls, Ric had taken more offense to it than he did.

“It’s nothing, ‘Star.” Ric sits up and shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.” He stands, brushing creases out of the sheets from where he was sitting. He should’ve just left it. It’d be ugly either way.

It occurs to him that taking out his bad mood on this poor, unsuspecting cover set might not be the most mature of solutions.

“No, wait, it’s…” Heaving a sigh, he crosses the floor and joins ‘Star on the other bed, sinking down into the pillows next to him. This one is even softer than the last, the kind you’d get awesome dreams but terrible back pain from. “Mostly nothing,” he amends. “But… I dunno, I just realized I never told my family about us getting married.” At the questioning expression on ‘Star’s face, he adds, “And yeah, I know I haven’t spoken to them for years, but... “ But maybe he should. Maybe it’ll be easier to talk to them now that they’re no longer the only family he has.

"We can go anytime you like." Suddenly all thoughts of blankets and beds slip from 'Star's mind, hand slipping into Ric's. "We can do anything you want." He gives him a little bit of a smile, just to assure him that no matter what choice he makes, he will be right behind him. Informing loved ones of their marriage… well, 'Star supposes that there are certainly more people to tell than just Jamie and Layla but how to go about all that is more than just a little confusing, not to mention rather awkward.

Ric grimaces. “Hold up, dude, that’s… probably taking it too far.” He’s feeling stomach-churningly nervous at the thought of a phone call; he can’t even begin to imagine what he’d feel like if he were to actually visit them.

He tells ‘Star as much. “So -- I just want to call them. Talk to my mom, at least, and… I dunno if anyone else will want to listen, but…” the sentence trails off into another sigh, heavy under the weight on his chest. “Man, listen to me. You’d think since I’ve got so many siblings and cousins and stuff, at least one of them would want to talk to me on the phone, right?” It’s a terrible joke, and the smile accompanying it is obviously forced. “Anyway. I might not even be able to find the number, so maybe it’s all academic.” There’s no way to find out until they’re home, though, so he may as well try to shake it off until it’s time to deal with it. “Hey, uh…” he rests his hand lightly on ‘Star’s hip, figuring that’s as close he’s going to get to the kind of contact he wants while they’re still being watched. Having a heart-to-heart discussion in a Macy’s during the Christmas rush wasn’t on his itinerary for the day, but it’s probably the least weird thing they’ve been up to all week, so he isn’t bothered. “That reminds me. I never brought it up while we were still on Mojoworld, but… d’you think we should try and track down Alison Blaire?” It’s a genuine question. Even if she doesn’t know about it, Alison is a parent -- _‘Star’s parent_ \-- but Ric doesn’t know if ‘Star would place the same importance on that kind of thing as he would personally.

"It honestly hadn't occurred to me." 'Star says, and it hadn’t. He knows he has parents, but he has no real emotional attachment to either the word or the people it's supposed to represent. If he thinks far enough back, past all the blood and violence that was his upbringing on Mojoworld, the only thing that stands out among it all is Rictor. His smell, his touch; even his voice has always been soothing. 'Star suspects it has something to do with the time it took for them to actually get his infant self to his caretakers, but he's not sure if that is all it is. "You're my family," And it's always been that way. Ric is basically hardwired into him. "But we could find Alison and speak to her."

“Only if you want to,” Ric tells him, with a small, reassuring smile. His hand lingers on ‘Star’s hip for a moment before he moves it, and slides off of the bed, standing up and pulling his jacket down over his stomach, where it had ridden up. “No pressure, or anything.” How would they even go about explaining that, anyway? It wouldn’t exactly be a typical family reunion.

And, _oh. ‘Star thinks of him as family._ It seems implicit, given the whole marriage thing, but hearing it out loud is a whole other thing. Warm and fuzzy doesn’t quite cover it - it’s something deeper, something that blooms soft but strong and hopeful in his chest and curls out through his veins, filling every inch of him. This is how love looks in the movies, or how it might look, if he wasn’t so cynical about it. It’s how it would look to ‘Star, he realizes, and smiles even wider.

“Hey.” He holds out his hands, and ‘Star takes them, letting Ric pull him up off the bed. He keeps pulling him forward until their chests are touching, and then he kisses him; a long, Hollywood sort of kiss that leaves them both a little breathless. “I love you,” he says, quiet but fiercely certain.

Now people are certainly staring, but since when has it ever mattered?

"I love you too." 'Star says as he's trying to catch his breath, taking Ric's hand in his again. To see how much the man still pressed against him has changed in all this time makes a strange but warm feeling well in his chest. He can't really name or explain it but it hangs there even after Ric moves away. Maybe he's proud, and maybe he's just pleased that Rictor seems so happy now, at least more often than not. "You haven't answered me about the blanket yet." He brings the topic back to the decision-making that they are supposed to be doing. And back to the too-cheery Christmas music playing in the background. "Or maybe we should buy a Christmas tree instead." 'Star points across the way where ten separate fake Christmas trees are set up, all sparking green and white with twinkling lights and far too many ornaments adorning them.

They really should have brought that list considering 'Star's tendency to wander around in the mall, and to get distracted in general.

Rictor bites his lip. "I dunno if we even have room for a tree," he laments. He doesn't particularly care either way personally, but having to break the news to 'Star makes him feel like Scrooge plus the Grinch, multiplied by Cable. It probably has something to do with the puppydog eyes. "Sorry, dude." Then he brightens. "We could go see the one in the city, though. The Rockefeller tree." His mind wanders, visions of twinkling lights and ice-skating hand in gloved hand floating through it like snowflakes. He snaps himself out of it. "Shopping first, though. And," he pauses, knowing he's going to regret suggesting this. "You can pick out a blanket."

A smile crosses 'Star's face that's half the Grinch’s curled grin and half the most earnest thing Ric has ever seen. 'Star's first thought is of that red and gold mess, but he's merciful and what he actually leads Ric to, after getting lost in the bedding for twenty minutes is a rather toned down grey and black comfy looking blanket set. "Am I not merciful?" he quotes as he presents it to Ric. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to watch _Gladiator_ again the night before going shopping in crowded spaces.

"Sometimes," Ric concedes, biting back a smirk. "Only sometimes." Are there rules against heavy innuendo in public spaces? Hopefully not. "It's good, dude. I like it." He pauses, mentally running through the rest of their list. "We're gonna need pillows and stuff as well. That and, y'know, everything else we don't have in our house. Which is everything. Do you think we can carry it all back?"

"We could take a taxi?" 'Star suggests, but he's not sure that's such a good idea either. Their apartment is only a stones throw away and paying for someone to drive them there seems like a waste of money. "Or I could just hold it all?" He picks up the comforter set by the handle and two fluffy pillows that happens to be in the same aisle. He's already encumbered with the two layers on and the coat and now he's carrying far too much. He's quite the sight to see. "Oh! Can we get fluffy towels?"

"Sure, but you have to carry them. Maybe you could balance them on your head." Ric is entirely straight-faced. "Maybe we should take all this home and then come back for everything else." Like 'Star's yoga pants, and Ric's... other stuff.

"Let's at least get the towels." Which is how they end up in line with towels tucked underneath 'Star's chin and three different kind of cologne samples stashed in the pocket of his jacket. It's not his fault that the register was just past the cosmetics counter. He laments not being able to get pants on their first trip, but all of these other things seem slightly more important. After one trip back, 'Star is waiting outside one of the stores for Ric with two cups of hot chocolate. The woman at Starbucks has spelled both their names terribly wrong, but he's managed to at least work out which was which and avoid the other woman who was there who he thinks was trying to proposition him? He would have taken her up on it once upon a time but now? Well, now he was just concerned about the drinks.  

"Hey m --" Ric stops, having noticed the drinks. "Oh! Great idea, I was just thinking we should stop for drinks." Sometimes he wonders whether the two of them might be a little bit psychic. It's not outside the realm of possibility -- a product of numerous mind-links, maybe, or an almost-unnoticeable hint of a secondary mutation from one of them.

Or a tertiary. Maybe it's time for him to tell 'Star about what happened in Alex's office, with the dampener collar and the whole... window incident.

"Do you want to find a place to sit down?" Ric asks, meaning _I want to sit down, and I know you're probably not tired at all but please take pity on my pathetic human form._

"Sure." 'Star gives him a smile before maneuvering around the crowd of people to a little table next to a window that's got a good view of the city and all of the twinkling Christmas lights. "There were people occupying this table before but I think they moved because I kept staring." It was easy to tell that this was the most romantic spot in the entire sitting area. "What did you even end up purchasing?" 'Star slides Ric's hot chocolate over to him before taking a seat.

Rictor sits down opposite him, resting the shopping bags on his lap and folding his arms around them protectively. “Uh…” he hums, taking a too-big sip of his hot chocolate and cringing when it burns the back of his throat. “... Pants?” he ventures, swallowing with an uncomfortable wince. The view through the window provides a welcome distraction, something for him to stare out at while he tries to fight the blush that’s creeping up from his collar. He’s usually a better liar than this.

"Pants?" 'Star asks again, clearly wanting more information. He can tell the answer is really a deflection but he lets it go instead of calling Ric out. Maybe it's a surprise. He runs his finger around the edge of his cup before gingerly taking a sip, humming at the taste of chocolate. 'Star doesn't exactly have a sweet tooth but it's not like they have been able to indulge.

“Your pants,” Ric clarifies, grateful that ‘Star chose to question that instead of the obvious lie. “To replace the ones from this morning.” He removes the lid from the cardboard cup in his hands, with the intention of letting the contents cool down faster. He takes another sip, more graceful this time, and comes away from it with foam stuck to his upper lip, caught in the makings of a moustache.

Then he makes eye contact with ‘Star and runs his tongue over his lip, licking away the foam.

“Sorry about that, by the way.”

"You bought me apology pants. That's all that matters." 'Star gives a bit of a grin with a dirty edge to it. It's not as if he minded what happened, the exact opposite actually. He turns his cup in his hand before his expression turns more serious. "This is all very nice," he starts, looking all around them. "But we still do have unfinished business with the X-Factor of the future." It would be one thing if they could just abandon all thoughts of going back into the future, but they have already traveled too far to just let it all be potentially for nothing. Plus, he's got a score to settle. 'Star knows he's ruined the moment but he had to say something.

Rictor swears under his breath, then looks immediately apologetic. “Sorry. That’s -- it’s not your fault.” He sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out how to even begin to explain what he’s worried about. Existential time-space fuckery aside, it really just comes down to the fact that he’s really starting to enjoy this whole blissful cohabitation thing, and he doesn’t want it to be cut short by something like… _oh, I dunno. One or both of us dying._

But there’s the thing about being happy, about being content with things, about reaching a stage in your life where the most mundane of activities -- things like sharing an apartment or shopping for pillows or holding hands or flirting over hot chocolate -- stop being boring and start being the things that you live for. He never thought he’d make it this far, never planned for it or dared to imagine what it could be like, but now that he’s here he finds himself very reluctant to let it go. It still feels almost dreamlike, as though it hasn’t really sunk in yet.

_So: turns out being afraid of dying is actually, y’know, pretty scary. Who’d have thought, right?_

When he opens his eyes, ‘Star is looking at him expectantly. He has on what Rictor always mentally refers to as his war face, the one that speaks of battle-lust and warrior’s honor and settling violent debts. And Ric gets that. Totally. After Mojoworld, he’s halfway to being a warrior himself, or maybe even further. It’s difficult to admit, but part of him wants this just as much as ‘Star does.

“We’ve got a chance,” he speaks up finally, decisively. ‘Star looks up at him - or down, technically - with something he immediately recognises as respect. There’s a certain set to his shoulders and an open determination to his expression that throws Rictor for a loop. This is the expression he used to wear when he spoke to Cable, or when he heard orders from the Cadre leaders on Mojoworld. It’s not the respect that stuns him. It’s the sudden realization that ‘Star might look to him as a leader when Ric barely even sees himself as an equal.

_Be worthy,_ he thinks to himself. _He trusts you. Don’t prove him wrong._

_Okay._ He takes a deep breath. _I’ve got this. No pressure._

“You know… I never got around to telling you what happened the last time we were there.”

"You saved my life,” ‘Star says. _And you almost got him killed as repayment_. It's a nasty mental voice that chimes in, all sneer and something else he can only begin to describe as the part of his mind that will never settle down to life on Earth. "I still hardly remember anything from after we were taken." 'Star had thought maybe some of it would come back after whatever was pumped into his veins finally cleared out, but he's got nothing still. He's got a sneaking suspicion that it's because wherever he was, what they attempted to do, was a one way ticket no one comes back from.

After a moment of searching Ric's expression he sits back in the chair. "It would be nice to have the gaps filled in."

Ric’s heart sinks. All of this is starting to sound very familiar, and he hates it. Hasn’t ‘Star been through enough already?

He takes a deep breath. “It’s probably not going to come back,” he admits, sounding somewhat pained. “Because…” he pauses, trying to figure out a way to explain it to ‘Star, who probably had never experienced anything of the sort before. Ric often forgets that in some ways, his partner is still learning what it is to be human. “I guess when you’ve seen or felt something that’s too --” he bites his lip, “-- too hard for you to deal with, your brain just sort of… blocks it out. Erases it, maybe, or just locks it up someplace where you won’t be able to find it until you’re ready.” He doesn’t have to clarify that he’s speaking from experience; the look on ‘Star’s face says it all.

“Anyway,” he continues, changing topics. There’s a lot left unsaid, but he knows ‘Star, and he figures if he wants to ask him about it, he’ll probably want to do so in private. “And -- by the way -- I don’t know what happened on your end either. First thing I saw when I woke up was Summers’ desk and that big fucking window.” Really, what was he supposed to do? “They had me collared with a power dampener. Not fun. ‘Cept I’ve been collared like that before, and it wasn’t like this. This was…

“I still had my powers. Or -- I still _felt_ my powers, y’know? Just under the surface, like I could reach out and pull them up if I tried hard enough.” It’s a simplistic explanation, but he hasn’t quite got the words for what happened back there, and he suspects he might never. “And I did. I dunno how, but I broke out of the collar, and when I did, my powers were…” he makes a vague, sweeping gesture with his hands, trying to emphasize the magnitude -- pun unintended -- of his statement. “Stronger. A lot stronger. Enough to turn back Alex’s energy blasts, or… disperse them, or whatever.” He frowns, frustrated with how little information he can give, and how much he doesn’t know yet. “They’re different, too. I dunno _how_ they’re different, because I haven’t gotten much of a chance to test it, but... I feel it, y’know? I feel different. Better.”

"So the collar didn't work?" It's the first thing 'Star says but it sinks in a little bit deeper than that right after. "And your powers have been enhanced. Or maybe not enhanced--have you undergone a secondary mutation?" Not that he knows all that much about it. "Would it be worth a trip to see Hank McCoy?" 'Star knows that X-Factor and the X-Men haven’t been on good terms in recent years, but knowing what they know, there are worse people to ask for help.

He feels a little bit of guilt well up in his gut, an ugly feeling that he can't get away from when he thinks about everything he can't remember. "I'm sorry you had to see me in... whatever state they put me in."

Though he perked up a bit at the possibility of visiting Hank, Ric returns to his previous state of concern as soon as ‘Star says his last sentence. He sets his drink down and reaches across the table, taking ‘Star’s hands in his own. “Listen to me, ‘Star. Listen.” He stares at him, waiting for him to meet his eyes before he continues to talk. “You don’t need to apologise to me for that. _Ever._ Don’t get me wrong, I mean, you scared the hell out of me, but -- it’s not your fault. And don’t you dare feel bad about it.”

'Star keeps Ric's gaze, trying to figure out if he should even mention everything he went through when they made it back, when Ric's wound got infected and he was out for three days straight. When he realized that no matter how much they had been through together something as simple as an infection could just -- just take his partner away from him.

"If you say it's alright," he sighs, "then I will try to forgive myself." What a turn this conversation has taken. "Maybe we should visit the X-Men. It might be good for other purposes as well."

“Couldn’t hurt,” Ric says, still uneasy about the guilt in ‘Star’s voice but unwilling to press the matter for fear of making it worse. “It’d be nice to talk to Hank about my powers.” It would be nice to talk to Hank in general. Ric hasn’t spoken to him or Bobby for… he doesn’t remember how long.

He pointedly doesn’t think about Scott, or Warren, or Jean.

Or at least he tries. “By other purposes, you mean all that stuff with the Phoenix, yeah?”

"Yes. The Phoenix knows who its next host is. We know that that host is not in the future we've been to. Maybe that's what tips the balance." 'Star is just speculating, but there are certain things being possessed by a fiery space bird will burn into your mind, the absence of a viable host being one of those them.

Even now, talking about it makes the hairs on the back of Rictor’s neck stand up. This is something they’ve talked about, but no amount of talking it over could ever bring him close to understanding the Phoenix from ‘Star’s point of view. Having seen what he’s seen, he’s not sure if he even really wants to know.

‘Star’s with him now. That’s all that matters.

“How would we know?” Ric’s thinking out loud, throwing out options in the hope that something sticks. “I mean -- it’s got preferences, right? So what do we do, make a list and check off the most likely candidates?” Whatever they do, it’ll have to be kept between the two of them. Revealing details of the future is dangerous enough, but risking them becoming topics of schoolyard gossip would be infinitely worse.

"Pink hair." 'Star says suddenly. "The future Phoenix host has pink hair." It's a small detail, but it's something that he knows in his very being. It's etched in now. "It's a start. Not many mutants have pink hair." Maybe the Phoenix host is Pixie...

No. That doesn't seem right. "Any ideas?"

“None,” Ric says plainly. “I was thinking of redheads - y’know, because of Jean, and you.” There are other parameters that come to mind. The Phoenix likes fire, in a metaphorical sense. It likes violence, and passion, and emotion. It likes people who are in love. It’s got a thing for people who are human, so intensely, powerfully human that it enthralls even beings as immense as the Phoenix. As much as the whole thing still terrifies him, he can’t help but be a little bit proud of the fact that ‘Star, who’s relatively new to human feelings himself, could draw it in like that. Not surprised, of course -- nobody knows ‘Star’s humanity better than Ric does -- but definitely proud.

"Then a trip to the Jean Grey School is definitely due." Maybe if they start putting the pieces of the puzzle they have collected through their journey together, they might just find a solution to the problem at hand as well. 'Star squeezes Ric's hands before he pulls back and takes another sip of his drink. "Also," he licks his lips. "Thank you for all of this. And thank you for buying me pants." There are so many other things to thank Ric for, but he'd rather take his time with that. They will get a chance. They have to.

\--

When Rictor thinks of home, he thinks of his family's old house in Mexico, so that's where he takes them after their escape from the X-Factor facility. It's a wonder that he makes it at all. He's injured, and bleeding out fast, and by the time the burst of light from 'Star's teleport dissipates, Rictor has fallen unconscious.

It’s been almost a day now and Rictor is still not awake. ‘Star’s not sure what’s worse, taking shelter inside of Julio’s abandoned childhood home, or the fact that even for him the heat is starting to get oppressive. He’s using every resource he’s come across to keep Ric cool but he’s starting to wonder if it will be enough, and the logical voice his mind that is telling him that Julio is as good as dead is getting harder and harder to ignore. He’s made several trips to the corner store and bartered in Spanish for bags of ice, bottled water and a bottle of peroxide, but it’s probably not enough. He doubts the last thing on that list will kill whatever infection might have taken up residence inside of Ric’s wound, but it’s a last resort.

‘Star sighs as he ties his hair back up it’s messy bun, removing the bandana from Ric’s forehead and dousing it in fresh cold water before placing it back. He’s sewn and treated the wound the best way he knows how and at least Ric was awake for most of that. His pained screams from the stitching are still fresh in his mind and he’s starting to wonder if he’d prefer that to eerie silence that’s fallen between them.

It’s his fault that Julio is like this and he’s not sure if he’s ever going to forgive himself. If he hadn’t dropped his guard, if he hadn’t let them be taken then this never would have happened. He can almost hear Ric’s voice in the back of his head, telling him off ( _it’s not your fault, dude_ ), but he can’t see how it’s not.

And now Julio might die because of his foolishness.

He takes the other man’s hand and squeezes it, knowing he won’t feel him squeeze back but wishing he would all the same. ‘Star stays like that for a moment before leaning in close and kissing Julio on the lips, somehow hoping, that just like in a movie, true love’s kiss might bring him back.

He’s sorely disappointed that that isn’t the case.

\--

It’s snowing heavily by the time they make it to the Rockefeller tree, but Ric figures they’ve already come too far to turn back.

At least they’re dressed appropriately for the weather this time. They make their way down the street, hand in gloved hand, trailing footsteps in the snow behind them. Ric’s new jacket is cosy, but probably meant for somebody taller than he is; it bunches up around his hips, leaving him looking considerably squishier than he would in normal clothes. ‘Star, typically, looks perfectly fine. Better than, actually.

It's not 'Star's fault that clothes just seem to look good on him. No matter what they might be. He picked out just a plain black coat, buttons all down the front. It looks like it was tailored just for him, even though it wasn’t.

It's kind of a small miracle that they haven't stopped at every window and storefront on the way here, considering how enticingly decorated everything is. The streets are full of life and even if it's almost like a blizzard out the weather doesn't dampen anyone's spirits, least of all 'Star's.

The tree itself is truly a sight. It’s almost pretty enough to make up for the fact that once they’re there, Ric realizes he’s actually got no idea what they’re supposed to do. Do you just look at it? He supposes that might work.

“I’m cold,” he states, although he isn’t really. He finds himself wishing he could slip out of his own jacket and zip into ‘Star’s instead, but given how icy the pavement is, maybe that’s just asking for something to go horribly wrong. Instead, he feigns being chillier than he actually is, and waits, exhaling in a huff that turns to steam in front of his face.

‘Star wraps his arm around Ric without any prompting, pulling him close and just staring up at the tree. “It’s amazing.” He’s a little breathless as he says it, the cold seeping into him with each inhale. “Where on Earth did they find a tree this big?” It’s certainly bigger than anything he’s seen on or off of Earth and he resists the urge to just reach out and touch it. ‘Star knows that there are other people here, hundreds milling around, but as he stands there in the glow of of the blue and white twinkling lights it feels like he and Ric are the only ones here. He’s not sure why this is the first time they have ever come here, considering they have been in and around the city for years before being sent to the future. Maybe this is just one of those right time, right place things.

Ric lets himself be held, leaning back against ‘Star and soaking in the warmth. It might be crowded around them, but there’s a certain comfort to be had in how distracted everybody seems, how preoccupied they all are by their own immediate surroundings. Here when people stare, it’s at the lights, or the tree, or the languid flurry of snow that swirls earthward from the night sky. This is a space for glancing at the person next to you while they’re not looking, for seeing the colours reflected on somebody’s face and the open wonder in their eyes and falling in love with them all over again because of it.

Ric turns his head and kisses ‘Star, aiming for his mouth but catching his chin instead. Nobody’s looking at them, but somehow that makes him all the more nervous.

“Hey,” he attempts to get ‘Star’s attention, and ends up with more than that. ‘Star kisses him with cold lips and a warm tongue, and when he pulls away, their breath hangs in the air between them, lingering like a ghost even now that they’re apart. Ric’s heart beats a nervous, erratic pattern against his ribs, weird but not altogether unpleasant. “Don’t freak out or anything, but I’m about to do something really embarrassing, so…” he waits, half expecting ‘Star to protest.

‘Star quirks an eyebrow, giving Ric a small lopsided grin. He’s not sure if it’s the cold or if it was the kiss or even what Ric just said, but warmth curls in his chest and he finds that he just wants to pull the shorter man close again so they can ignore that anyone else here even exists and bask in the glow of the tree and each other. “Embarassing? You? I hardly think you’re capable of being embarrassing.” At least not in the way that Ric probably thinks he is. ‘Star sort of feels like he’s on top of the world right now, Julio at his side and this amazing sparkling tree in front of them. It’s enough to forget about the future and the past and just live in the moment. It’s something they hardly ever have the chance to do. “But -- feel free to embarrass yourself.” His hands drop down to Ric’s hips.

“Okay, so.” Ric’s not sure how he feels about this _not capable of being embarrassing_ business, but for the sake of saving the moment, he’ll let that slide. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Vegas, and what we did, and what I would’ve done differently if…” _If I hadn’t been so drunk_. “... if I’d had more time to plan things. It’s not that I regret it,” he clarifies hastily, seeing the look on ‘Star’s face, “because I don’t. Not at all. It’s just that there’s a couple of things I would’ve done differently.”

He takes ‘Star’s hand, moving it from his hip to hold it between them. “I, uh. I dunno whether I’m meant to get down on one knee or anything like that, but…” With his free hand, he reaches into the pocket of his coat and fishes out a small box.

'Star remains silent and watches him intently, that warm feeling that was swirling in his chest from the close contact with Ric now moving through the rest of him. A proposal, he knows, is traditionally supposed to come before the wedding, but 'Star isn't exactly sure that what he did in Las Vegas would actually be considered proposing. It was all very spur of the moment. "Julio. You didn't have to--" he actually stops himself from finishing the rest of that sentence. Most of the time ‘Star isn't surprised when he and Ric end up being on the same wavelength, chalking it up to spending almost all of their time together

“No, I didn’t. But I wanted to.” Ric grins, letting go of ‘Star’s hand so that he can open the box. He’s almost certain that he’s going to drop it, given how nervous he is, but he doesn’t. The box, of course, contains a ring; simple and undecorated but gleaming white-gold.

“I hope that’s okay. I mean -- you probably won’t be able to wear it much, at least not while we’re out, y’know… fighting space mercenaries and evil mutants from the future and stuff, but…” He’s rambling. “Sorry. Uh. I hope it fits.”

"It's amazing." It sparkles in the lights just like the snow does. 'Star resists the urge to reach out and touch it, patting absently around in his coat for something but not taking his eyes off Ric's or the ring for that matter. Maybe sometimes they are just a little bit psychic. 'Star pulls the same sort of small box from his coat, opening it quickly to show off a ring that's almost identical save for the color. The gold shines in the lights almost the same way. A perfect pair. "The woman at the jewelry store helped. I owe her a debt of gratitude." He owes her a lot actually considering that 'Star was about to buy the first thing he saw when he walked in the store. He moves to close the small gap between them, the feeling that blossomed in his chest now engulfing him completely as he looks at Ric. He can feel something warm roll down his cheek but he can't identify it, unless --

A tear? That is -- unexpected. And highly illogical.

“You’re kidding.” Rictor bites his lip, turning away for a second to hide his blush and the wide, probably dorky smile on his face. “I mean, you’re not. Of course you’re not. Here I was thinkin’ I was going to surprise you with this totally romantic idea, but I guess nothing gets past you, does it?” Finally he looks up again, moving in to kiss ‘Star before stopping cold. _Is that…?_

“Hey,” he says rather sternly, reaching up to wipe the tear from ‘Star’s face with his sleeve. “Don’t you start crying on me, man,” he warns, the tone of his voice belying the sympathy in his expression. “‘Cause if you do, I might start as well, and nobody here needs to see that.” Nobody here is looking, but that’s not the point.

"I'm sorry. I barely noticed--" It's just something that came over him. They aren't sad tears and it's not even a lot, just a dampness on his cheeks. 'Star sniffles suddenly, when Ric brushes his cheek with his sleeve. "I am just happy." His grip on the ring box tightens a little. They have come so far from where they started, it's almost unbelievable, even by their standards. "I will wear the ring always. In and out of battle." It will be his most precious possession. "Nothing would bring me more pride."

_Keep it together_ , Ric tells himself. _C’mon, this is already sappy enough for the both of us._

“Put it on, then.” He doesn’t want to hurry anything along, but if they stand here making eyes at each other for any longer he’s probably going to start crying as well. “Here, let me…” he takes ‘Star’s hand and slides the ring onto his finger, and by some miracle, it fits perfectly. ‘Star does the same for him, with a degree of formality Ric can only assume he picked up from those romantic comedies he likes to watch, and then it’s done, and they are matching. Rictor takes a moment to look at it, turning his hand slowly and watching the light catch on the gold band, before snapping out of it and putting both hands into his pockets.

It feels as though they’ve only just got here, but he’s struck by the urge to return home. Maybe it’s because it’s cold, or because it’s late, or because he’s suddenly feeling… feeling a lot of things, really, so much at once that he doesn’t even know how to begin to describe it. It’s the kind of thing that should be voiced alone, in the dark, not in a crowd or under lights, no matter how enchanting all of that is. Whatever he does next - whatever this is leading to - is something he wants to share with ‘Star, and ‘Star alone.

"Let's get out of here." It's 'Star who suggests it, resisting the urge to pull Ric close right here and just see what kind of emotions pour out of the both of them. He doesn't wait for an answer, taking Ric's hand and pulling him back down the sidewalk and away from all the people. It was quite a walk in the snow to the tree, but walking back, trying to suppress emotions and not just push Ric against an icy brick wall and kiss him breathless -- it's taking all of 'Star's willpower and then some.

Their building seems empty when they get there and the elevator ride to the third floor is tense with an emotion that he can't quite place. He glances at Ric and it seems like he's actively avoiding his gaze. Sometime before he might have been hurt by it but now, now he can tell that Ric is really just trying to hold himself together. He can almost feel it. Or maybe he is projecting, and those are his own emotions entirely.

Once they’re home -- once they’ve shrugged off their coats and flicked the light on and the door is shut and locked behind them -- Rictor is oddly quiet. He surveys the room with an unreadable expression, eyes flicking over the pile of shopping bags next to the door and their new pillows and bedspread, still unpacked at the foot of the mattress.

_I’m not ready,_ he thinks, closely followed by: _no, that’s not right_. How many times has he used that as an excuse? He said it when he left X-Force the first time around and he said it in Mexico, when he left ‘Star, and both times it was a lie, an excuse to keep running from his own emotions. Looking back, he thinks -- not for the first time -- that a considerate number of their problems have been caused by his ongoing fear of admitting how he feels, to ‘Star and to himself.

_Nope,_ he tells himself. _You didn’t survive hell itself and the literal devil and a year on Mojoworld and the goddamned Phoenix just so you could freak out about maybe crying in front of your boyfr -- your_ husband. _Man the hell up, Rictor._

"Julio..." 'Star's voice is soft as he shuts the door behind them. "Are you alright?" He's not really sure what answer he's expecting, but he asks anyway, wondering what the answer is going to be. 'Star knows that he's come so far with emotions, knows that even if he'd been capable of understanding them, growing up on Mojoworld all but tore away any chance of ever being able to feel or experience things as fully as a normal human does. It's not as overwhelming anymore, but he knows that Ric hasn't exactly been so good with emotions either. Maybe that's just another thing that's drawn them together. "You can talk to me."

Rictor makes a noise that might be a laugh, but also sounds suspiciously like a sob. "Man," he says, shaking his head, "remember when it used to be me who had to ask you that?" It's funny, but he's always been better at dealing with 'Star's feelings than he is at even facing his own. To think that 'Star used to look to him for emotional guidance is at once hilarious and horrifying. Ric has no idea how 'Star managed to turn out so well-adjusted, considering.

"I think you're doing better at being human than I am," he admits. He turns to face 'Star, forcing himself to look up and meet his gaze even as he feels the telltale, hot prickle of tears welling in his eyes. "Don't hold that against me, though. I mean... I'm trying."

“I know you are trying.” ‘Star moves close, close enough to see the tears shine in Ric’s eyes in the dim lamplight. “And I know that the only reason I even know what loving someone else feels like is because of you, Julio.” He puts his hands on Ric’s shoulders, squeezingly slightly. “I’ve counted on you for so many things, relied on you to be my guide and my anchor. Let me do the same for you.” ‘Star hopes that Rictor has always known that he can rely on him, as a teammate and a partner and now as so much more than that. "Let me help you if you need it."

"You say that as though it's not what you've been doing all along." Ric rubs at his eyes, blinking rapidly. Is it possible that 'Star didn't know? It might be. Ric isn't exactly the best at voicing these things. "You know, though, don't you? That it's mutual?" He waits for that spark of recognition, and gets nothing. "'Star, if I didn't have you around, I'd be..." Where? Still depowered, or dead, or living in denial about who he is, or... "Man, I don't even know." He pauses, pushing it all into the back of his mind. "But I wouldn't be me if it weren't for you." He hopes 'Star knows what he means by that.

'Star suddenly realizes that maybe he never really got over not being here when Ric needed him. Not being there to pull him up when something terrible and ugly was threatening to swallow him. For being gone when it mattered the most. "I should have found my way back to you sooner." They have been over this time and time again but it's a weight in 'Star's chest that he can't seem to completely get rid of. They have had fights about this, and about how long it took Ric to even mention that he once tried to take his own life. He doesn't want to fight now. He wants to enjoy the warmth they had outside in the snow.

"No," Ric says, and he's never argued that point before. "'Cause first of all, you were only gone in the first place because I told you to leave." Because he was in too deep. Because he felt himself falling in love, and it scared him more than anything. "Secondly... if there's anything we've learned from all of this," he waves his hand in a vague gesture, "time and space shit, it's that when you're in a place, it's the right place, and the right time for you to be there. Everything that happened, everything we've been through brought us to where we are now." When he looks up at 'Star, he doesn't break eye contact, and he speaks with all the certainty in the world. "And I wouldn't want to change one second of it."

'Star knits his eyebrows together, ready to say something to counter that, to just keep laying out his guilt but the way in which Rictor speaks to him just then quells whatever ugly urge was there in the first place. The man in front of him is determined, strong, beautiful and powerful. 'Star knows Ric has always been all of those things, but it's so clear in the light of their apartment right this moment. "I love you." He could say so many other things, but nothing quite fits as simply and as perfectly as those three words.

"Hope you know that's mutual, too." Even if Ric’s eyes are still a little watery, his grin is sincere, and it echoes in the tone of his voice. He’s no less emotional, but whatever weight had settled on his chest at the thought of opening up like that has been lifted. _Aaand the award for “communicating your feelings without sobbing all over Shatterstar” goes to me._ “But in case you don’t --” he stands taller, craning his neck slightly to kiss ‘Star on the cheek. “Love you too, ‘Star.”


	5. Once Upon a Time in Outer Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prior to the beginning of the story, Ric and 'Star make their way back to their own universe and Earth via outer space.

"I _am no longer the man you knew. I am fire and life incarnate. I am Phoenix!"_ It's a familiar echo in the universe, a pulse of life that can't be mistaken for anything else but the pure power of the Phoenix. 'Star's words seem to reverberate off of everything, surrounding Ric and some now-very-terrified Badoon space pirates, one of them scrambling to grab at the crystal from which the Phoenix had sparked to life. When he manages to wrap a grubby green claw around it, it dissolves, taking the alien’s hand along with it. 'Star takes a deep breath and gives Ric a rather chilling smirk before he's gone. Vanished.

The room turns dark and murky in the absence of the Phoenix-fire. Rictor gasps, sucking in oxygen he didn’t even realize he was missing. _The fire_ , he thinks, feeling dizzy. It’s not like normal fire, but it feeds off air in much the same way; it must have almost deoxygenated the room.

He barely has time to catch his breath before the light returns, bursting forth from a point in the middle of the room with a hurricane roar and a sudden wave of intense heat. It throws him a step back, leaving his ears ringing and burning white spots into his retinas. He blinks them away, squinting against the brightness. At first, all he can make out is a silhouette, tall and imposing and somehow both very human and very incredibly not.

Then the spots fade, and he sees something altogether 'Star and at the same time not, all gold and white and red and terribly imposing. He reaches a gloved hand out and the Badoon still behind Ric give an unearthly screech before they are ripped out of existence completely. Dust in the wind, if space stations could have wind. 'Star steps forward after that, expression unreadable until he finally looks up at Ric, that unnerving smile curling into his lips again. "Julio." It's familiar and warm but also so foreign and resonant. "I've gotten rid of the pests for you."

Rictor's lips move to form words but his throat is dry and his lungs feel airless and all he accomplishes is one mouthed syllable: _no_. 'Star speaks with a hundred voices, overlapping and tangling together, fading in and out; his own, and the Phoenix's, and a softer voice Rictor distinctly recognizes as that of Jean Grey. He -- they -- _it_ has too many voices and Rictor can't even find his own. It's gone, gone with the oxygen and fed to the flames. This isn't 'Star, this is a bird of prey, and it's hunting him, vortexing and vaporizing everything around him so that he can't hide.

So he doesn't try to. Instead, he picks himself up off the floor, breathing choked and heavy, and takes an arduous step towards 'Star. It feels like walking into a strong wind, or through water, and every inch he moves brings him closer to that strange, unbearable heat.

'Star cocks his head to the side as Ric walks toward him, not moving save for the searing flames striking up and swirling around them both."You're not afraid." It's not a question because the Phoenix already knows. It can read Ric, see everything, every thought and feeling, it sees every fiber of him. ‘Star doesn't move, lets Rictor come to him. It's not going to hurt him. It's just so, so curious.

“No,” Rictor grits out, taking the final step and bringing himself close enough that he could reach out to touch ‘Star (or whoever this is now) if he wanted to. “I’m terrified,” he contradicts. “But not for myself.” He had hoped that if he got close enough to the centre, to this entity wearing a familiar body and a familiar face, it might be more bearable, like the calm inside a storm. It isn’t. If anything it’s even hotter and more hostile; the heat here seems realer, stinging his eyes and singing the hairs on his arms when he reaches out.

He pulls away almost as soon as his fingers make contact with ‘Star’s chest, but not because of the heat. The skin is raised and pinkish where he touched it, like a burn or a deep scar, and as he watches the mark expands, curling in intricate lines and licking across ‘Star’s chest like the fire it resembles. It’s almost instantaneous but it feels like he’s watching it in slow motion, horrified and enthralled. ‘Star doesn’t even seem to notice.

Slowly Rictor reaches out again, as though he’s unable to stop himself. He touches his fingers to the same place as before, the point of origin, and then flattens his palm. The marks are raised and hot but not raw; they must have healed almost immediately after appearing. He traces them upwards to ‘Star’s collarbone, where they fan out into a pattern resembling wings.

"You are afraid for Shatterstar." 'Star asks, voices still tangled but he sounds more and more like himself as the Phoenix continues to speak. “There is no need, Julio.” The Phoenix reaches out and touches Ric’s face gently, the pulse of something carnivorous and full of lust echoing between them. “We are safe.” It’s unclear if it’s talking about Rictor and itself or ‘Star, but it certainly doesn't do anything to clarify. It's observing Ric, thinking about all of the different ways he could rewrite him, fill him with power and life, make these two halves a whole again. It knows how empty Shatterstar would be if something happened to the man before him.

Rictor flinches at its touch, and snatches his hand away quickly, as though he’s just realized what he was doing. “Don’t touch me,” he tries to warn it, to sound intimidating, but his voice shakes. “I don’t know who or what you are but I know what you do to people, and I won’t let that happen to ‘Star.”

He takes a step back, hurriedly putting distance between them. His face is still warm where ‘Star touched it. Not warm with the same heat as the surrounding area, but warm in a way that lingers, that sends sparks of nervous pleasure down his spine. Its touch was too familiar, and he tells himself it must be messing with him, imitating what it knows will draw him in, because there’s no way that it could be…

“‘Star?” Ric’s voice isn’t much more than a whisper. He thinks he _feels_ him, a faint but unmistakable presence in the back of his mind, reaching out to him. “‘Star, if you’re there -- if you can hear me -- you’ve got to fight it.” He gasps, seeing the flames flare up and the oxygen around them deplete in response. “Don’t let it take you over,” he chokes out, and the rest of his sentence is lost to breathlessness. _I’m not ready to lose you yet._

“Fight against what exactly?” The Phoenix asks, answering the question that wasn’t intended for it to answer. “If you don’t understand the gift I’ve bestowed on your Shatterstar, I will be happy to share it with you as well, Julio.” The flames flare up again and ‘Star vanishes and appears behind him, wrapping his arms around Rictor tightly. “He loves you. Fiercely so. I can make you both complete.” Inexorably entwined together, both so full of fire and life. It can feel Ric tense, but it doesn't loosen its hold, instead pressing searing hot kisses along the back of his neck. If ‘Star is in there somewhere he doesn’t reply, at least not physically. There is a pressure in the back of Rictor’s mind however, a warmth curling there that might just be ‘Star trying to connect to him. If Ric thinks hard enough he might just be able to see the jagged edges of where ‘Star ends and the Phoenix begins.

Ric shudders, helpless to stop the moan that tears itself from his throat. The creature behind him might not be ‘Star, but it certainly kisses like him.

“Let him go,” he insists, but that’s a very different thing to _let me go_ , and both of them -- _all_ of them -- know it. He stops trying to fight it and starts channeling his energy into trying to reach out to ‘Star, squeezing his eyes shut and reaching out with his mind. Dimly, he notices occasional shifts in the air around him, changes in pressure that time themselves with the ache in his lungs. It’s letting him breathe, he realizes. But it’s not letting him breathe enough.

“ _Julio!_ ” ‘Star’s voice is sudden and startled when it finally reaches Rictor. “ _What is happening? Where are you?_ ” His voice seems to echo in the dark halls of Ric’s mind, like ‘Star is lost in a labyrinth and he can’t seem to find his way out. “Can you hear him? He’s here with us.” Just tucked away in a corner somewhere, locked up tight until Ric learns to cooperate. ‘Stars hands splay across his chest and suddenly his shirt is gone and it’s not clear if the Phoenix unmade it or it simply burned away under its touch.  

“Let him _go_ ,” Ric repeats, and then there are hot hands against his bare chest and he squirms. “ _Hey!_ ” His voice cracks when he cries out, half in protest and half in pleasure. “Don’t do that,” he snarls, grabbing its wrists (‘Star’s wrists, or the Phoenix’s, or who the hell knows?) and holding its hands still. He’s acutely aware of the fact that it’s only just playing along with him, that if it wanted to keep going, it would have no trouble breaking his grip to do it. But it’s listening, for whatever reason, and that’s a start. “I’m not going along with this,” Ric says, a note of forced calm in his voice, “unless ‘Star’s here.” The air suddenly feels less thin, and Rictor breathes deep, breath rattling around the tightness in his throat. It’s listening to him, he thinks, meaning that it might respect him, that he could ask to be let go and to get out of here and maybe it would allow it.

But he doesn’t. “I need to be able to hear him,” he whispers. “That’s all.”

The Phoenix’s breathing speeds up and the grip on Ric loosens, falling away completely. “Julio.” It’s ‘Star. “I don’t understand.” It’s like someone’s taken a blindfold off of him and he’s trying to take in his surroundings, trying to breathe after being held underwater. “I didn’t--” He’s scrabbling to try and find the words he wants to say, but he’s so overcome with the realization that he might have hurt Rictor that he doesn’t quite know what to say. “Did I hurt you?” ‘Star’s voice is pained but he’s not in pain. He’s terrified for everything he can’t piece together.  

Rictor exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He turns around, searching ‘Star’s face for the truth and finding it -- it’s him. Undeniably.

He reaches up, sliding his hands up over ‘Star’s chest to rest on his shoulders. The marks -- scars or burns or whatever they are -- are still there. Rictor hopes they don’t hurt. “No, corazón, you didn’t. I’m fine,” he assures him, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders with his thumbs. ‘Star feels more normal all of a sudden; still not quite right, but nowhere near as hot or as inexplicably distant as before. “Don’t worry about me -- what about you?” He doesn’t ask if the Phoenix is gone. It might have let ‘Star back in the driver’s seat for a while, but it’s still in him, still crackling through his veins and his hair and his strange new clothes like a current.

"It feels like I am burning." 'Star feels like his heart is on fire, flames coursing through his veins with every beat of it in his chest. "The Phoenix force. Why me?" That's the question everyone asks but rarely does it have an answer. 'Star wants to wrap his arms around Ric, hold him and never let go but he won't. He’s worried he might hurt him or worse. "How did this happen?"

\--

"I need my swords! This is unacceptable!" 'Star is fuming, hands almost shaking with anger as he stands behind Rictor, who has wisely positioned himself between Shatterstar and the rather slimy looking Badoon carrying a map crumpled in one of his claws.

"Keep your friend in line," he hisses. "Or I'll burn the map and you'll never see any of your junk again."

"Junk? I will skin you alive, reptile!"

"Try it, you overgrown bag of flesh!"

“Cut it out!” Ric snaps, holding out one arm to keep ‘Star back and using the other to shove the Badoon a step backwards. He regrets it immediately; the guy was just about as slimy as he looks, and then some. “We don’t want any trouble,” he says, even as the Badoon snarls at him and ‘Star snarls right back at it. “You’ve got something of his, that’s all.” He decides to fight one battle at a time, focusing on ‘Star’s swords instead of attempting to argue about all the other stuff that was stolen (the contents of his backpack, which was mostly socks and underwear).

"I don't got it no more." The Badoon almost hisses out. "Sold it to some pirates for a nice amount a credits." That reptilian smile is back, the one that got them in this situation in the first place.

"Rictor, your words are wasted on this disgusting scavenger." 'Star spits, hands still balled into fists.

"You want the map? You got it if ya name the right price." It's technically the only way to find the pirates. Or at least where they store all the loot they've stashed. Taking it could mean sifting through the biggest garbage heap in the universe, but it might be the only way.

Rictor heaves a sigh, letting his arms drop to his sides. "Look, man, I don't have time for this. I got places to be, times to be there in... too much to do for me to be wasting time bartering over goddamn treasure maps with a scumbag like you. So -- and listen close, 'cause I'm not gonna tell you twice -- you can trade us the map in exchange for me not shaking your skull so hard your brain bursts out your ears." He pauses, making a face. "If you have ears. Do you have ears?"

"I can assist with making him ears." 'Star chimes in and is still glaring daggers at the lizard. Of course by ears he mean holding him down and cutting holes into his head with the lone knife he still has on him, but that's neither here nor there.

"I'd like to see you try, mu--" The words are lost when 'Star sprints past Ric suddenly, the other man's arms falling to his sides and no longer blocking him a sign that he's had enough and if 'Star wants to break a few bones that's okay. And yes, he very much does want to break a few bones. 'Star's inhuman strength is tempered only by the fact that he's not looking to kill the creature. Picking him up by the throat, he slams him onto one of the tables crowded together in the back of the shady drinking establishment they found him in.

"You are lucky I don't crush your windpipe." 'Star squeezes anyway for effect.

"Ooh," Ric taunts, sauntering across the room in 'Star's wake. "Hands off, dude, before I get too jealous." He winks. Something about this whole bad cop/bad cop routine they've been working on just gets him so...

_Not now_. "And let the guy talk, I think he's got something to say about accepting our deal."

'Star stays like that for a moment before, without removing the hand from around the Badoon's throat, he takes his free hand and snaps the alien’s wrist. "I've accepted it for him." The scream that's let out is choked by 'Star's own hand around his throat as the map flutters to the floor. These little exchanges don't alway end like this, but he called 'Star's swords junk and ‘Star was personally insulted by it.

"Well, that's one way to do it." Rictor shrugs, stooping to pick up the map. It's crumpled, and hand-drawn, which is unusual for space, but not so much for Badoon. It's marked with an X, like a pirate map in a storybook. "And you're sure this is where they're headed?"

The Badoon nods, coughing and hissing and clutching his throat where 'Star crushed it.

Rictor nods. "Okay," he says. "And I know you're not stupid enough to try to lie." He folds the map and tucks it into his jacket, against his chest. "Pleasure doing business with you," he says cheerily, and turns towards the door.

'Star leans back to look at the damage he inflicted before he digs in his jacket pocket and sets one lone credit, something not even enough to buy a drink in this place, down on the table next to the Badoon. "For your trouble." His voice is calm now, almost pleasant and he walks after Ric, trying to catch up to him. He's not surprised, but little altercations like that make him feel so exhilarated. It's also so much more fun when Ric plays along and he's got a feeling without even asking him that Ric enjoyed it just as much as he did.

The automatic doors seal shut behind them with a quiet, mechanical hiss.

"Vulcan-12," Ric says, patting the pocket containing the map. "It's a junk pile, essentially. Used to be a mining station before the Badoon got a hold of it. They mostly use it for hoarding stuff. Stolen swords and backpacks full of underwear and... I dunno, spare t-shirts and shit." A vague twinge of annoyance. He's pretty sure there was other, more sensitive items in the front pocket of that pack. What would evil space lizards even want with that?

He sighs, wiping his hands on his pants. "Dude, I'm totally slimy right now, but if I wasn't..." he glances over at 'Star, cocking an eyebrow and giving him a sly smile. "You were good back there."

 ‘Star gives him a smirk back, patting him on the shoulder. “As were you.” He takes a moment to reach in his jacket pocket, pulling out a small white packet. “I have a...” ‘Star squints at the small print. “Wet nap. It may be helpful to clean your hands with.” He had taken a handful of them from a diner they were at the last time they were on Earth ( _an_ Earth, at least. They’re yet to make it back to their own), wondering if they would come in handy at some point in time. At the thought of the diner ‘Star’s stomach seems to respond with a growl. That was also the last good meal they had eaten in what’s most likely been weeks now. It’s also about how long their things have been missing for. “We could clean up, find something to eat and then...” He kisses Ric’s cheek briefly, suggesting something far more than just that, the urgency to find their things subsiding now that they have at least gotten a lead.  

"Okay, so, brainwave," Ric begins, opening the wet nap and wiping his hands vigorously. "We head to the transport depot on the other side of the station. We charter a ship - something small, 'cause we're not going far - and we stick it on autopilot and coast along to Vulcan-fuckin'-12. We could even set up a table with, y'know, mood lighting and stuff. Re-hydrate some space-rations and make a date out of it." He's laughing, but it actually sounds amazing. "There should be a few hours to kill before we get there, so..."

“I can think of a few things i’d like to eat.” ‘Star moves close as he says it, whispering in Ric’s ear before biting down on his lobe just a little teasingly. It’s probably not appropriate to do this right outside this transport depot, but is anyone really going to say anything to them? ‘Star thinks not. “We’ve got enough credits between us to make sure the ship isn’t too terribly small.” Or maybe it would be better if it was, something cramped, with no personal space to come by. He can just imagine being pressed so close to Ric -- coming up with all sorts of interesting positions to try. It could be a very educational experience as well. “What do you think?”

Ric shivers, responding with a quiet, throaty laugh that sounds just as dirty as anything he could've said, or maybe even worse. "I think if you keep that up, I'm not even gonna make it to the ship." It could be a warning, but it might just as easily be a challenge. Not that he doesn't plan to end up there eventually. This will be the closest they've come to real privacy in weeks, and the idea of having that much time to themselves -- almost three hours, by Ric's estimations -- sounds almost heavenly.

"Maybe that's what I was planning." 'Star laughs too, but it's smooth and dark and he punctuates his point by grabbing Ric's ass. “Or maybe you’d like that too much.” And he’s got a sneaking suspicion that Ric just might. It’s not practical, because changes of pants don’t come too often when you’re teleporting from planet to planet, but ‘Star has a brief, dirty fantasy of making his lover come in his pants before they even get to the ship. “Or I’ll just make you wait and torture you.” He gives a small laugh before he pulls away and struts in front of Ric, heading toward the aforementioned transport depot.  

“I can wait.” Ric follows after him, breaking into a jog to catch up with ‘Star’s long strides. He stops behind him and reaches out, slipping his fingers into ‘Star’s back pockets. “But only if you make it worth waiting.” He walks in step behind ‘Star, ignoring the confused glances they’re beginning to attract from alien onlookers. Sure, the idea of ‘Star bringing him off here, with dirty words and covert touches and whispered promises of _later,_ is awesome in theory, and maybe he’d take him up on that if slimy alien pirates hadn’t stolen his spare underwear.

Every time he thinks his life couldn’t get any weirder…

_Well_. At least it’s not boring.

‘Star tries to stop himself from letting out a slight moan when Ric slips his fingers into his pockets. The tightness of his pants don’t really leave any room for imagination and Ric’s fingers might as well just be his whole hand. “It can be whatever you want it to be.” He glances to the side to catch the grin that has to be on Rictor’s face. “Whatever filthy little thing you can come up with, Julio.” He takes a moment to glance up at the schedule of ships that are coming and going before fully turning around to look at his partner. “But we do need to get a ship before we can have sex on said ship.”  

"When I come up with something, it's not going to be little," Ric counters, with a snicker. They could probably go on like this for hours; they're both as terrible as each other. "But, okay, the ship." He withdraws his hands from 'Star's pockets and folds his arms across his chest, staring at the schedule with narrowed eyes. He tilts his head, frowns, and finally shrugs, turning back to face 'Star. "I actually know basically nothing about spaceships," he admits, somewhat sheepishly.

‘Star puts his hands on his hips, looking at Ric and then back up at the schedule. It’s not like he’s that good at it either, they are both so used to just being able to teleport anywhere they need to go. “I will go and figure out the ship and travel arrangements.” He digs in his jacket pocket before tossing a small pouch to Ric. “You can be in charge of finding something suitable to eat.” He walks past Ric, slapping him on the ass hard as he makes his way past all of the other people milling around. They are not exactly the strangest pair on this backwater mining outpost, but they still get stares. Maybe it’s because they are just so human against a wash of everything but.

Rictor resists the urge to call out after him, considering his comeback line and judging it too inappropriate to be shouted in a crowd. Universal translators are common here, which has rendered their use of Cadre as a code language almost useless. He misses it like hell, this thing that used to be uniquely and secretly theirs. They'll have that back when they return to earth, but for now, they have three hours of time alone together to look forward to, and that's enough.

\--

As it turns out, on a backwater mining outpost five thousand credits can get you a lot. Or at least it can get you a ship with decent autopilot that's big enough for two people. 'Star leaves all of the programming up to Ric and watches him hunched over the control console with a bit of a hungry stare. Weeks packed between people and terrorizing Badoon for information have left him in severe need of some alone time, and he suspects Rictor feels the same way.

He sits back against the cool steel of the ship wall and stretches before untying his hair from its bun and letting it cascade downward. It's still shaved on both sides, but 'Star's considering just letting it all grow out again. Maybe he will just ask Julio what he prefers. He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes close for a moment, just happy for the silence for once. This ride is going to be a well deserved rest.

He doesn’t mention it to ‘Star, but Ric spends the first five minutes or so at the controls trying to turn up the internal heating to match what he thinks is an ideally temperate Earth climate. He shed his jacket and gloves at the door and is currently in boots, uniform pants, and a tank top, and after a bit of messing around with the ship controls, the temperature is changed to suit his state of dress. Or his future state of undress, as it may be.

He swears under his breath as the ship computer decides, for the third time, that it wants to update itself instead of just letting him program autopilot. This is probably exactly what he deserves for prioritizing onboard space over system quality, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. Sighing, he folds his arms on the keypad in front of him, staring semi-interestedly at the ink on his left arm while he waits. He hadn’t been sure about the tattoo when he got it (on Mojoworld, as part of some weird Cadre initiation thing) but now he regards it with a sort of proud fascination. It’s kind of like a badge of honor, a relic from this incredibly important, incredibly weird time in their lives, and he appreciates the idea of what is essentially a permanent memory. Plus, ‘Star seems to dig it.

The computer beeps at him, snapping him out of his daydream. “Here we go,” he says, cracking his knuckles and beginning to type the instructions. “Fourth time lucky, right ‘Star?”

"Hmm?" 'Star calls from the back of the ship, eyes still shut as he wavers between wanting to take his boots off first or shed his jacket. He can tell that Ric has adjusted the temperature and wonders for a moment if he didn't do it for the exact purpose of getting him to shed his clothes faster. _Clever._

He takes a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with the fresh oxygen pumping through the ship before he starts to strip down a little. His jacket is the first thing to go, unbuttoning every little silver clasp and ignoring the fact that he's just realized that it's a little more bloodstained on the front than he'd thought. 'Star slowly shrugs out of it, setting it down neatly beside him and stretching once he's free of it. The white belt hanging at the front of his pants is next. If he doesn't take it off it now it's just going to become cumbersome when Ric tries to remove it. Plus, he's been thinking about some things he'd like to do with that belt. He stifles a yawn as he tosses it to the side, laying back against the side of the ship now dressed in just his tight black uniform pants, boots and a black tank-top. "Is everything alright?"

Rictor doesn’t look away from the controls, intent on watching the loading progress bar with his fingers crossed until he’s certain it’s worked. Finally, it beeps and flashes up a message confirming its success, and Rictor stops holding his breath. “Yeah, man, everything’s --” he turns around, and stops mid-sentence to stare, eyes wide and lips parted. ‘Star is unfairly handsome in his usual mostly-white uniform, but ‘Star all in black is so hot there should be laws against it.

Ric swallows, and tries to play it cool. “Everything’s looking fine,” he says, and then cringes. “ _Running_. Everything’s running fine. In the ship. In terms of systems.” He makes a slightly pained expression, ears turning red. “Um. Autopilot’s set up. We should have about three and a half hours before we’re close enough to signal for docking.” Or to hack the docking controls and park illegally, if they encounter resistance. They probably will. Fortunately what Ric lacks in conversational subtlety, he makes up for in computer skills.

"Perfect." 'Star gives him a smile. "At least we know that the ship was worth the credits." Anything would have been worth the credits and even if they hadn't been able to come up with enough to charter a ship, they would have found another way. Probably stowing away again. It's how they got to the mining outpost in the first place. He fights back another yawn before properly getting a look at Ric where he stands, all golden skin and elegant curves of muscle. His lover has always been handsome, but all that time spent fighting on Mojoworld has carved him into something even more extraordinary. 'Star isn't sure he'll ever get used to it.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you didn’t have to sit through all those system reboots,” Ric can’t help but complain, but the upward curl of his lips and the light in his eyes belies his true feelings. He’s got mixed feelings about all of this. If ‘Star didn’t get so worn out from teleporting long distances (hundreds of years through time and across the barriers between universes), they’d be home already, but he’d never think to push ‘Star further than he’s comfortable with. He worries enough about the jumps they do as it is. Besides, this is kind of an adventure. “So,” he says, crossing the room to the storage crates stacked against the wall. He lifts one off the top, inspecting its contents as a precaution (it’s empty) before carrying it to the middle of the deck and setting it down. “If I’m the captain of this ship, what does that make you? My first mate?” He fetches the bag he acquired from the space station marketplace, pulling boxes marked with alien lettering out of the main pocket. “I, uh. I hope we have one of those space microwaves.” He means the rehydration units that are used to unpackage space food, but that’s a bit too much of a mouthful. “Oh! Also.” He rummages through the bag until he finds what looks like a small, flat, silver box. Upon being opened, the box lights up, projecting a flickering hologram of a candle and a single rose in a vase. _Nothing like tacky space souvenirs to set the mood, right?_ He sets the hologram on the storage crate, and stands back. “Pretty romantic, huh?”

'Star might roll his eyes a little if this was any other time, but as it stands, it is pretty romantic. "I have no earthly clue where you found that but I am glad you did." He doesn't move but he does fight another yawn. "Also, why am I the first mate? With my superior knowledge of time and space should I not be the captain?" A smirk teases his lips. If they are meant to be space pirates even for a few hours, they need to get it right. "Though I suppose," he taps his chin thoughtfully. "I would not mind taking my orders from you." His blue eyes sparkle after he says it.

Rictor chuckles. “No orders,” he says, gathering the boxes and looking around for the aforementioned space microwave. “Just us, these crappy space rations, and the swirling, incomprehensible void.” He smiles softly, then utters a quiet, victorious noise when he locates the space microwave on the far wall, among some shelves. “Did you just yawn? Are you yawning at the thought of our romantic space date?”

"I am not yawning because of our date. I am yawning because the fluids descending from my brain need to be cooled." He gives Rictor a deadpan look before he laughs just slightly at the other man’s expression before shaking his head. "Exhaustion might also have something to do with it." Although traveling via ship is less exhausting than teleporting, the fact that he's been up more than seventy-two hours is starting to catch up with him. Just slightly. "I would never dream of falling asleep during our date."

“Well, good,” Ric says, hitting a button on the microwave before turning to look back at ‘Star, leaning against the shelves with his hands on his hips. “‘Cause I seem to remember you making a lot of distinctly not-sleep-related insinuations back at the transport hub.” He lifts an eyebrow, and adds, delicately: “Unless you think you’re good enough with your mouth that you could suck me off in your sleep, in which case, carry on.”

"Is that something you'd be into?" 'Star gives him quite the look back. "Because if you'd like me prone and non moving--" He's insinuating something a little darker, but he softens it with a smile. "I thought you wanted to have a romantic date." He scoots forward a little, wondering just how awful the food they have managed to get is going to be. He's not excited about it, but as with anything else, terrible circumstances are always mitigated by the fact that he's still sharing the moment with Ric.

Ric almost drops the space food immediately after taking it out of the microwave. “It is not,” he says firmly, regaining his balance and carrying the foil plates over to the makeshift table. “Tied up and struggling, maybe, but that’s it.” He winks, and sits down cross-legged at the table. “See? I told you this would be romantic.”

"I am doubting our food will be as romantic." 'Star eyes the trays and he doesn't even have to peek under the foil to know what's in store for him. "But thank you all the same, Julio." He moves his foot to slide across Ric's calf gently. "This would not be as fun an adventure without you." This would not be a great many things without Rictor to accompany him.

Rictor nudges him back, quietly delighted that they seem to have found a way to play footsie without even having a proper table to do it under. _Love finds a way,_ he thinks, though he doesn’t recall where the quote is from. He picks at the edges of the foil covering his tray, then tears it all off at once, feeling like doing so might lessen the unpleasantness. “I’m sure it just looks bad, he says, though he isn’t sure at all. It’s probably lucky that he’s too hungry to care. That, and too eager to get to whatever comes after this.

‘Star just blinks at it, sort of losing whatever appetite he had. “I think I may be able to hold out until we can reach earth or somewhere with more suitable for food.” His stomach belies the truth of that statement, but it’s not his fault that Earth food for the most part is delicious. “You eat. Actually, you can have mine as well.” It’s not as if he hasn’t had space rations before and years ago it wouldn’t have mattered what type of sustenance was given to him. But now… well, he’s been spoiled by Earth and by Julio himself actually. ‘Star attempts a smile, but it’s thin and he’s hungry and all of this isn’t going to cut it. “Perhaps what I intend to do after this will provide me with all the energy I need.” He lays it on even thicker.

Ric practically groans. “Don’t make me eat it all in front of you, dude,” he complains, frowning even more when his stomach growls in protest. “‘Cause I’ll do it, but it’s not gonna be pretty.” For him, living on the greyish, souplike rations they serve in the cells outside the arena on Mojoworld had just about the opposite effect. They seemed to be intended for creatures stronger than himself, who could subsist on a single bowl of unidentifiable mush per day; after all of that, his appetite has returned with a vengeance. He frowns at the small plastic spoon that came with the tray, but tries to work around it anyway. “Also,” he says, through a mouthful of food, “that’s totally unfair. You flirting with me like that when I’m meant to be focusing on this… whatever this is.” Ignoring the fact that he’s been flirting just as much, if not more.

“What? I was simply stating that perhaps it would be best if you ate mine as well. You need your strength of course.” ‘Star leans forward, pushing his tray over towards Ric and then leaning back. “I will be fine.” Of course, the real reason he’s doing this is because earth food has made him picky, though he will never admit it. He’ll skirt around that accusation for as long as he can, though Ric had  to have picked up on the fact that ‘Star has started to gravitate towards certain foods more now than he ever has before. Another human quirk that hadn’t appeared until after he’d shown up to X-Factor. “Also,” ‘Star adds, “If you prefer I hold off flirting with you I can do that, Captain.” He really can’t, though. It’s just become a part of who they are.

“No you can’t,” Ric accuses, as though he’d read his mind. "Or you just won't. Either way." So it's a good thing that Ric doesn't really want him to. He finishes the first plate of (unsettlingly greyish) space food and starts on the second. "Are you sure you don't wanna share this? I mean, you've gotta keep your strength up. You'll need the," his tongue darts out across his upper lip, "stamina, y'know?" He's taunting him, and it's groundless. If he wanted to, 'Star could probably go for days.

"I am very sure." But 'Star knows a challenge when he hears one. "As for my stamina, I think you'll find that I have quite the reserve of it just for these kinds of occasions." He smirks but his stomach growls after that and shatters the whole moment. He is hungry, but he's not going to touch that food (he can't even call it food. No one would eat that willingly) and he wasn't lying when he said Ric needed it more. Technically he does. "My body is betraying me," 'Star shakes his head and puts his hand on his stomach. It's not fair. "But no matter what it is telling you, I do not need to eat at this moment." Or ever again if this is all he has to look forward to. This is just something else that he can ultimately blame the Badoon for.

Ric frowns. “Fine,” he says, wondering whether his own stubbornness hasn’t rubbed off on ‘Star more than he thought. He picks at the corner of the second plate, then sighs, and pulls the foil back over it, and sits back. “Totally wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” he shrugs. His motivations are probably transparent, but it won’t matter when ‘Star’s stomach inevitably wins its battle against his brain and he comes back for cold rehydrated leftovers. He stands. According to the ship’s manual, there are bunk beds on the lower deck, and a shower on the same floor. He’s hoping it’s not one of those high-tech, suspiciously coffin-shaped Kree-designed showers like the one they encountered a week or so ago on a repurposed military craft, but given the size of this ship it seems likely. It’s a shame. He misses showering with ‘Star, even more so for the fact that they haven’t washed each other’s hair since they were first dating as teenagers. Now that they’re both wearing it long again, it seems especially unfair.

“What are you thinking about?” ‘Star backs away from their makeshift table a little, attempting to change the subject and forget the space food altogether. He’s looking forward to getting back on track, to leaving the space travel behind for their usual mode of transportation. No matter how weak or exhausted he gets after teleporting it’s preferable to finding ships and stowing away and eating -- he glances over at the food again _\-- that_. “I think we deserve a little bit of time to ourselves.” ‘Star grabs Ric’s hand and attempts to tug him back down into a sitting position. “I promised you a great number of things and I do intend on keeping all of those promises.” A shower might feel good but not as good as just having Ric sit in his lap right now.

“Mm,” Ric hums thoughtfully, settling in ‘Star’s lap. “‘Kay. Promises.” He slips his arms around ‘Star’s shoulders, feeling him tense under the thin cotton of his undershirt. “Refresh my memory?” He remembers to the letter, but that’s not the point. He wants to hear it. “Oh, and remind me to massage your shoulders sometime before we land. You’re pretty tense.” They both have been, on and off, since leaving Mojoworld. It’s not as though they haven’t talked about what happened there. They had one particularly gruelling, vaguely cathartic, entirely uncharacteristic heart-to-heart just after it happened, but neither of them have brought it up since. It hurts, and it’s going to keep hurting, but they have ways to care for each other that don’t involve dredging up the same old issues. They might be time travellers, but they’ve drawn the line at changing the past, and what’s the point of thinking about it if they can’t go back? It’s done. It’s time to move on, and they’ll move on together.

"Will you do it if I ask you nicely now?" 'Star asks, though he's wondering if a back rub might be able to wait in favor of other, more pleasurable activities. "Or maybe--" He nuzzles his face into Ric's neck, kissing when his lips meet skin and his tongue darts out to mark the trail as well. There are things that they should talk about. Things that happened, things that ‘Star wants to clear up, most of which is about how susceptible it seems he is to bouts of amnesia and mind control. He’s never going to let it happen again, controllable circumstances or not. Ric is right. They can’t go back, but they are better for it. A time paradox may have resulted in his birth but he’s not going to risk anymore by going back to attempt to right the wrongs of his and Julio’s relationship. As far as ‘Star is concerned there are no wrongs, only the things that lead them to this place. This wonderful place that they are right now. “We can get to all those promises now. Hm?”

Rictor shakes his head. “No, uh. No promises until I’ve had a shower.” He can’t tell whether he’s still slimy from his earlier run-in with that badoon pirate or whether he just _feels_ like he is, but either way it’s about the opposite of what he wants right now. That, and they’ve been travelling almost non-stop for days, and maybe ‘Star doesn’t sweat much and his hair remains mysteriously clean and unreasonably shiny regardless of how many fights he’s gotten into but Rictor isn’t subject to either of those exceptions. It’s not as bad as Mojoworld (Ric smelt bad and felt worse and even thinking about it now makes his nose wrinkle. There were showers there, but they were brief, and his scars stung and his beard itched when he was growing it out and there’s this ache in his left wrist where he broke it once that’s never really gone away), but that’s not exactly saying much. The lingering sweat isn’t so bad -- god knows they’ve been there before -- but the grime and bloodstains he could definitely do without. “And we’ve been on enough cold hard floors to last me more than a lifetime. You’re taking me downstairs to the bunks, dude. No ifs or buts about it.” He’s stern, but he knows ‘Star kind of likes it when he gives orders. He is the captain of this ship, after all.

Kind of is a bit of an understatement, but there are certain things that 'Star keeps to himself on purpose. That might just be one of them. "Then please do direct me to what is next, my captain." He teases just a little. Ric needs a shower, hell he probably needs one too, but he was wondering if that might able to be pushed back in order for them to spend some time getting properly reacquainted with each other's bodies. At least that was what he was thinking before he remembered that the last thing they encountered were badoon and -- well, it's sort of self explanatory. 'Star isn't surprised when Ric tugs him out of the main part of the ship and right to that shower. It's not big enough for the both of them, but at least it's not something that looks more death trap than shower. He lets him go first, patiently waiting in the balmy heat that accumulates in the bathroom like area before slipping in the shower himself. When they are done, they are both clad in fluffy towels and even 'Star's still protesting stomach relaxes a little with the rest of him.

"Okay," Rictor says, fastening his towel securely around his waist. He's not sure what the point is if they're just going to be undressing one another again, but... actually, maybe that is the point. Having the time to undress each other, to pull away every layer slowly and to properly look. It's all very far removed from what they've been doing lately. Tugging down zippers and underwear and jerking each other off in a rush in the dark, or fucking hard and fast and rough in the cargo hold of a ship, or those few memorable occasions on Mojoworld, when they were with the Cadre Alliance. The base was an abandoned comm hub, with one floor used as a communal sleeping area. Under their shared blanket, 'Star had palmed him through his uniform pants, holding him still and keeping him quiet with one hand clamped tight over his mouth. The next night, Ric rubbed himself off, and 'Star slipped a hand down the back of his pants and fucked him with spit-slicked fingers. Ric never asked, but he thinks 'Star might have come from that alone; just the act of touching Ric, without being touched at all himself. Maybe it was just testimony to how desperate he was, how long he'd been waiting. Ric can't help but think it was more than that. " _Now_ you can take me back to the bunks."

He picks up his jacket on the way, mentally commending himself for having the forethought to keep all their essentials in one of the inner pockets. The bunks on the lower deck are small, but compared to dirt and concrete and cold metal floors, they may as well be silk-sheeted and covered in rose petals. They all seem to have too many pillows. Rictor saw an alien with two heads back on the outpost, and he can't help wondering whether they'd sleep with one pillow per head, or both on the same. Perhaps that would explain it. He stands by the bed, and sighs contentedly when 'Star makes his presence known behind him with warm hands on his sides, fingertips resting on the taut muscle above his hipbones. Ric covers 'Star's hands with his own, inching them down. 'Star takes it from there, pushing the towel down off his hips before reaching wordlessly back to run his hands across Ric's ass. He squeezes, and Ric arches back into his touch to close the space between them, rolling his hips slow against 'Star's own. "So," Ric says, voice low and throaty from the steam in the shower, "what were you sayin' back on that overcrowded rock of a space station? Somethin' about thinking of a few things you'd like to eat?" _God bless colloquialisms_ , Rictor thinks, with a grin. Why is it that 'Star only ever remembers the dirty ones?

Maybe because the dirty ones are the best ones to remember. And the most fun. "Do you have any suggestions, Julio?" 'Star's breath is hot against the back of Ric's neck, squeezing his ass appreciatively one more time before sliding his hands back to trace the lines of muscle leading down to Ric's cock. "Or do you want me to name off the things I'd like to indulge in?" His tone says it all, but he would like to hear a few things from Ric regarding. Having time to speak like this is welcome. There is no place for dirty talk when you're attempting to be quiet and quick. "Touching you is certainly one of them." Calloused fingertips run bring down smooth golden lines. "But as far as _eating_." 'Star is still speaking against his skin, touching lips just so briefly as he talks. "Your cock -- your ass -- your delicious come." 'Star also remembers all the dirtiest innuendos because he's watched so much porn. It's all very educational.

"Start with my ass," Julio breathes. It's hard to be confident and commanding when 'Star is touching him like that, deft fingertips in places Julio himself hasn't even touched for weeks let alone had touched by his lover, but he's trying. "I've missed that. I've missed all of this, but especially your tongue." 'Star is good at that. Possibly too good. Ric knows 'Star likes it when he's vocal, that half the reason he does this is to hear Ric moan and gasp and cry out for more, and Ric intends to give that to him. Right now, Rictor would gladly give him everything. "Where do you want me?" He feels 'Star's palm, flat between his shoulderblades putting light pressure on his back, and he follows it, bending forward with his hands out in front of him. 'Star's fingertips chart their course down Ric's spine to the small of his back and then to his ass. He spreads him when he gets there and touches him, rough fingertips on tight, sensitive muscle. Julio's moan is breathy and pleading. The slowness and the reverence of this is driving him nuts already, and he loves it. He arches his back, parting his thighs as he does. He knows 'Star is looking, and he wants to show him everything. "Would you like me here, with my ass in the air, or do you want me sitting on your face? 'Cause, y'know, I want whatever you want, babe. Anything for you."

The second option sounds very appealing, but then again, so does the first. 'Star spreads him even wider without giving instruction, leaning down to give a lick and a very throaty moan. "I think," he says before he does it again. "I want you to sit on my face and tease me by saying the absolute dirtiest things while I lick you." 'Star pushes Julio forward slightly before getting up and he crawls on the bed that's obviously too small for him. This isn't unusual. In fact, 'Star doesn't fit a lot of places. Normal beds and bathtubs are the first things that come to mind but they aren't the only thing. It's just good that they aren't really going to be using it for sleeping. Ill fitting as it is, it's still good for pulling Ric up and onto him, spreading him again slowly before making sure that he's settled just like he wants. His first lick is slow and teasing and he moans when Ric finally pushes back, covering his face. 'Star needed this, they needed this. He never realized before they left how very much he would miss sex with Julio when they were unable to have it. There were often far too many people around in the X-Factor headquarters to get away with something like this for long. Someone would normally be onto them. 'Star doesn't miss that. 'Star always wants to make Ric scream as loud as possible.

“Anything you want,” Ric repeats, then moans, a high keening noise in the back of his throat. “God, yes, that’s so -- ugh, _‘Star_ …” He shivers in delight, more sensitive now than he remembers being for years, and fights the urge to press down further. “I bet you can’t wait to fuck me.” Keeping his voice level is a challenge, but he promised ‘Star anything he wanted, and what he wanted was this. “I bet you’re aching for it,” he drawls, ignoring the fact that he’s aching for it as well. “I think I wanna ride you, ‘Star.” He doesn’t think. He knows. He’s got no idea when he became so good at dirty talk; maybe it’s always been there, all the things he wanted to do and say and cry out when they couldn’t be together like he wanted. “I’m gonna bounce up and down on your cock ‘till you come, and then I wouldn’t mind it if you… cleaned me up… kinda like you are right now.”

'Star's only reply is with more voracious licks, grabbing Ric by the hips and pressing him back even further until he is truly being sat on. His tongue works against that muscle and he moans loud when he finally presses inside, gripping Ric hard as he fucks him with his tongue. He could probably do this for hours, leave Ric dripping and make him come just from this but he's right, he can't wait to fuck him and watching him bounce on his cock sounds like the most perfect thing in that moment. Only after he's made Ric properly wet does he pull away, watching saliva drip down the curve of his ass. 'Star hears him whimper and chuckles just a bit. "I wonder how far I could stretch you -- how much you could take." He muses for a moment. "I know how much you like my cock. I bet you wish it was bigger." He squeezes Ric's ass for emphasis.

"I'd take you if you were bigger," Ric tells him, with a greedy little gasp. "I'd take you even if you tore me apart. Hell, _do it_. I wouldn't care." 'Star all but takes him apart every time anyway, pulls him to pieces and builds him up again when they're done, and he comes out of it newer and better and glowing with love. Ric sits back, settling on 'Star's hips and moving to kiss him. His hair brushes against 'Star's cheek, and he can't keep himself from smiling. "You know I could never do this with anyone else. I tried, but nobody else could measure up to you. No-one else ever did me right, but with you, I just..." he rolls his hips, feeling the hot press of 'Star's cock against the cleft of his ass. "... fit."

"You do fit," 'Star pants. "You fit perfectly." He arches up and moans when his cock rubs just right. He's leaking already and he's more than ready for it. 'Star could grab Ric's shoulders and push into him like this but he wants to see him slide down on his cock of his own accord as much as Ric wants to do it himself. "Slick me with your mouth. Make it a show." He arches up again when he says it. No ones mouth is more talented than Julio's, there is no match in sarcasm or wit and there is certainly no match for how devious he is with a cock in his mouth. Perhaps the most devious then.

Ric moves back as soon as he’s asked, sliding back down ‘Star’s body and squirming in barely-contained delight when ‘Star’s cock brushes against his own. He doesn’t waste time in taking it into his mouth; he slurps it down deep and moans around it, intent on showing ‘Star just how much he loves it, and just how much of it he can take. He swallows around him, feeling the press of the tip against the back of his throat, and it only spurs him on to move faster. His nose touches against the ginger hair surrounding it at the base, and he inhales, letting his eyelids flutter closed. The scent is familiar, and it makes him feel warm in a million different ways; he’s turned on, utterly, achingly ready for it, and he also feels like he’s coming home. There’s no better place for him than in ‘Star’s arms, no voice more comforting than that of his lover, no sights or touches or scents on anyone else that could ever make him feel the way he does right now. ‘Star’s hand is in his hair, and he looks up before he’s asked to, locking eyes with him as he sucks and swallows.

Even like this, even when there is every opportunity to grab Ric's hair and buck up and choke him, he doesn't. This is too good and the delicious sounds that his lover his making are far better than anything 'Star might be able to spur out of him. Rictor is enjoying this and he's letting him know exactly how much. That's all 'Star would ever ask for. Rictor is all 'Star could ever ask for. Everything about him, every small detail, every broad stroke of him. Sometime 'Star has to wonder if maybe Ric was made just for him and they were always meant to fit together like this. Be together no matter what ends up being in their way. And an act like this is the culmination is everything they are. Something that's borne out of pure love. "Julio--" 'Star gasps when his lover’s tongue swipes in just the right spot and as much as he regrets it, he knows he's going to have to pull away soon because he's not going to make it much longer. "I think you want me to come in your dirty mouth--" and it certainly sounds and feels like it.

Ric draws back, lips leaving the head of ‘Star’s cock with a loud, wet noise. “Any other time I would,” he responds, reaching back to where he left his jacket, on the end of the bed, “but right now, I’ve got somewhere dirtier in mind.” Instead of wasting time rummaging around in the pockets of that jacket while it’s on the bed, he slips it on over his shoulders, and finds the right pocket immediately. Theirs is the smallest bottle of lube he’s ever encountered, travel or otherwise, and he almost regrets squeezing out so much of it, but -- when’s the next time they’re going to get to do this? If this could be their last time for weeks, then he wants it to be perfect. He warms it in his hands and then slicks ‘Star properly, wiping his hands on the sheets when he’s done. He moves up without a word, inching down until he feels the press of ‘Star’s cock against his hole. ‘Star’s hands find his waist, and Ric sucks his lower lip in between his teeth. He’s never needed much; just the thought, just the promise of how good this is going to be and how sweetly it will ache after they’re done. He sinks down onto him all at once, so much quicker than he expected. Too quick to try to hold back the moan (almost a shout, or at least as abrupt and as loud as one) that escapes his lips when he does.

"Julio--" 'Star can hardly contain himself and as much as what he says resembles Ric's name, it also sounds more like some sort of strangled moan. He's always surprised by how tight Ric is, how well he squeezes him and just how perfectly they fit together. The slide in isn't agonizingly slow like he thought it might be and he's gripping Ric's hips wickedly tight as his lover adjusts himself. This is for him, this is the show that he wanted to put on. 'Star tries to regulate his breathing, blue eyes wide with affection and love and shiny with lust. "So tight--" he's breathless. "Tell me how big I feel inside."

“Almost too big,” Ric answers him breathlessly, with a brief grin that fades into a look of wide-eyed ecstasy as he starts to move his hips. “So, y’know,” he pants out, “it feels perfect.” There are no words for it beyond that. He wishes there was some way to show ‘Star, not to switch their positions but to switch their places, just so he could know exactly what this feels like for Ric and Ric specifically. He aches with the sudden stretch of it and his legs feel almost boneless, and every roll of his hips sends sparks of unbearable pleasure coursing up his spine. It’s too much, and somehow he can’t get enough of it. “Move with me,” he begs him, though he knows he doesn’t have to and he hasn’t for years now. ‘Star knows exactly what he wants, senses it somehow in his motions or the tone of his voice, or maybe he’s just memorized it all. Rictor knows him in much the same way. Right now, he’s only speaking because he wants to. He’s missed their banter -- his wit and ‘Star’s bold, literal statements, and the point at which the two converge -- almost as much as the rest of this.

‘Star loves the sound of Rictor’s voice, loves the way it echoes in his ears and the way it sticks in his mind for hours after they have made love. And make no mistake, that is what they are doing right now. This isn’t just sex. He arches up and meets Ric's movement down in a perfect rhythm. It's not going to take much of this and 'Star is not sure if he want to prolong this for as much as he possibly can or if he wants to grab Ric's hips as hard as possible and fuck him with abandon. He's leaning toward the later, honestly. 'Star leans up and kissed a line up Ric's chest, messy at first but regaining composure as he reaches a nipple and sucks it into his mouth. This is perfect, they are both perfect here in this cramped bunk where 'Star's arms spill off the sides and his feet hang over the edge. He prefers when beds are too small--that way Ric can lay on him. It’s his secret. But it's probably not really a secret at all. He's always been rather transparent to Ric, or at least when he started getting more accustomed to being around humans. _Other humans,_ he tells himself. He might have been modified but he was born human.

Rictor gasps and throws his head back, threading his fingers through ‘Star’s hair to keep him close. “I told you before how much I missed your mouth,” he purrs, stroking ‘Star’s hair as ‘Star presses his face against the hair on Ric’s chest and breathes in deep. “You don’t know how hard it was to keep my hands off of you when we were travelling. I barely had any time with you after you came back, and then we had all the time in the world but I couldn’t be --” he falters, biting back a moan when ‘Star’s lips find his collarbone, “-- close to you.” When they get back to Earth, Ric thinks, he’s going to trap ‘Star in their bedroom and not let him out for days. “Be rough with me, if you want to. I know how hard it’s been, having to hold back.”

Ric is right in a certain way, it has been hard, devastatingly so but ‘Star thinks that he’s got his lover right where he wants him. There is no reason to be rough and he plans to be exactly the opposite. ‘Star grazes Ric’s neck with his teeth and then moves his hands up to cup his face and kiss him hard. Ric is exactly where ‘Star wants him and he’s still kissing him as he thrusts his hips just a little to get the friction he needs. It’s Ric’s job to take this further and ‘Star aims to show him that he’s in control of all of this. Or maybe -- maybe he just needs to tell him. “This is for you as well.” He finally pants out as he pulls back from the kiss, swathed in the heat of him. “You’re in control, Julio.”

_Control_. Ric likes the sound of that. The past few months have moved so quickly that he’s barely had time to process them, whirling past him and sending him spinning and leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He doesn’t even want to touch the whole time loop thing. He can’t decide what scares him more: the possibility that they might have fucked it up, and that one or both of them could have disappeared from the time stream forever out of nowhere, or that they couldn’t have if they tried. That the entire thing was pre-set and predestined, and all they were doing was carrying out the motions. Either way -- control sounds good. He thanks ‘Star by picking up his pace, lifting himself until he’s almost off ‘Star entirely and sinking back down to take him to the hilt. There’s a smile he wears only during the quietest moments, when it’s just him and ‘Star and nobody else, secretive and sincere. He’s wearing it right now. It’s brilliant, and he beams. “Kiss me more?” he says, and it’s clear in his voice that he’s close. His hair is drying and it bounces when he does, and when ‘Star reaches up to run his fingers through it he couldn’t be more glad that they’ve both grown theirs out. It feels like a return to a brighter point in their lives, a different kind of time travel entirely.

‘Star runs his hands through Ric’s hair, biting back a moan when the pace is picked up and he feels a bit more of the squeeze, the tightness rippling through him and sending pleasure right up his spine. He doesn’t answer Ric’s question with words, instead pressing his lips softly to his and kissing him once and then again and again, all softness and love. ‘Star might be a warrior and gentleness might have no come easy to him at first, but nothing makes him stronger than his love for Rictor. It fuels him, gives him life and there is no more powerful force than the two of them together. “I love you --” His voice his soft when he says it, hips arching up and his hold on Ric gets a little tighter. “I -- I’m not going to last much longer.” The arousal has made him dizzy and it feels like heat is rolling off of Rictor in waves. “I am going to come inside of you--” ‘Star says as he buries his face against Ric’s shoulder.

It’s those words and the promise behind them that brings Rictor over the edge. He comes with his eyes closed and his brow furrowed and ‘Star’s name on his lips, spilling white and hot over his own hand and onto ‘Star’s stomach. He tightens around him, trembling from head to foot, and when ‘Star kisses him all he can do is cling to him and hide his face against his neck as he rides it out. He’s sensitive in the aftermath, and every movement ‘Star makes has him whimpering and holding him tight. There was a time not too long ago when he wouldn’t have allowed himself to feel so vulnerable, or at least to be so honest about it, but that’s passed. Everything has changed and it’s left them both awestruck (in the original sense of the word), but this is the proverbial silver lining, and it glitters. He’s safe here. He’s always known that, but now he feels it too.

‘Star can’t keep himself from coming after Ric does, mumbling something that sounds like Rictor’s name but the rest of it incoherent and lost in the moan. It’s silent for a few moments, the air thick between them and bodies sticky as they remain pressed together. “Fekt,” He finally says and it bubbles up like a laugh, and he presses kisses to Ric’s chest as he holds him there. ‘Star nuzzles into his chest hair for a moment before reluctantly pulling back and smiling sleepily up at Ric. “You were perfect.” He always is, but so much more so because they haven't had time to do any of this. This mission at hand even slips from ‘Star’s mind as he bathes in the afterglow of them joining together like this.

“We were perfect,” Ric corrects him, letting his arms slip from around his shoulders and joining their hands instead. “We’re always perfect.” Maybe they haven’t always been, but now -- definitely now. He closes his eyes and just basks in the sensation of being filled, of being joined so completely to ‘Star, before he bites his lip and lifts himself off. He settles next to ‘Star on his side, slipping an arm around his chest and entangling their legs. “Love you too, ‘Star,” he mumbles close to ‘Star’s ear, breathing in the scent of his hair and seeing his smile close up. “I didn’t get to say it before, but I do.”

"I know." 'Star tugs him a little closer and then yawns. They don't have time to take a nap or at least he doesn't think they do. "Do we have time to sleep?" Usually he wouldn't even ask, but sex certainly takes something out of him or at least makes him so relaxed he feels like he could sleep without issue. They both know that he could go for days without needed sleep and in fact, he's done that more times on their trips through time than he cares to think about right now. Sleep sounds good but the last thing they need is to be caught literally with both of their pants down. Not that even nude they wouldn't wipe the floor with the badoon. Sometimes 'Star wonders if he wouldn't prefer to fight in the nude.

Rictor pauses in thought. “An hour or so, maybe. I want to get cleaned up first; I can set an alarm or something on the ship’s computer while I’m up.” The thought of having to sit through any more system resets makes him cringe, but sleep sounds pretty amazing right now so maybe it’ll be worth it. He sits up, chuckling when ‘Star refuses to let go of him and squirming out of his grip, and climbs off the bed. “Here,” he says, handing ‘Star one of the towels and wrapping the other around his waist again. “I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep without me.”

“Star isn’t sure that he can keep that promise, but he will certainly try. “Hurry back then.” He grabs the towel and wipes himself up a bit before tossing it onto the ground. They are going to have to return the ship so it is not as if they are going to leave the mess for someone else to clean up. He pats around to try and find some piece of his clothing but gives up rather quickly and just tugs the rather scratchy sheets up around him. It feels like an eternity before Ric comes back, but when he does he wraps his arms around him and pulls him on top, kissing his lips chastly before shutting his eyes to relax. They may not get many moments like this, but they tend to savor them when they do. After everything that’s happened, they deserve this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suuuuper sorry for the late update, guys. Hope you're all still with us.


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